


Alterations

by indoorbutch



Series: With One Wave of Your Hand [1]
Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch
Summary: A series of one-shots that take moments from the movie and imagine things going... a little differently. Stories are not connected. Rated Explicit for later chapters. Open to prompts.
Relationships: Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Series: With One Wave of Your Hand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021705
Comments: 268
Kudos: 411





	1. Bold

**Author's Note:**

> Carol wants Therese to ask her things. But what if she got her wish a little sooner?

Their drive to the station is silent, heavy, terrible. Carol’s mind is spinning, and at moments she almost forgets Therese is there, too caught up in the memory of Harge’s hands gripping her arms. The cruelty of his words and hers, and the heartbreak of kissing Rindy goodbye. She feels sick with fury and grief, wondering how everything could have fallen apart so spectacularly. Especially today. Today was… lovely. Hopeful. But now…

She glances in Therese’s direction. The girl sits low in the seat, hunched, her face turned away. Earlier, when they drove out to the tree lot, she had felt Therese looking at her more than once. Had felt her eyes like a physical weight, warm and curious and nerve-wracking. She barely knows her, barely understands what she is doing, only that it feels good. It _felt_ good, to look over her shoulder in the toy department at Frankenburg’s and throw out a shameless flirt ( _‘I like the hat’_ ). It felt good to sit with her in Scotty’s and ask her questions and watch her smoke with that slightly nervous but also beguiling air of a water nymph. And it felt good, truly good, to have Therese in her home, to listen to her play the piano, to walk up behind her in a fit of daring and touch her lovely slim shoulders.

She’s never done anything like this before. Her past affairs with women were all under much more controlled circumstances. They were women her own age. Women adjacent to her social circle. Women she knew through this club or that. Women with husbands and women who, like her, viewed their brief and flaring passions as a momentary escape—a _reprieve._ Neither they, nor Carol, had had any illusions of it lasting beyond a few nights. It was different with Abby, of course, but only because she loved Abby, had loved her since childhood and would love her into old age. Their few months together had been more than anything before it, but even that was _nothing_ like this.

This—what is _this_? All she knows is that Therese is _beautiful_. That she is gentle and thoughtful and innocent of everything that makes Carol’s life so painful. She’s not a member of the New York elite. She’s not the wife of one of Harge’s work associates. She’s not pretentious or falsely gay and she looks at Carol as if Carol is more than an exhausted, embittered suburban housewife.

Except now, she doesn’t look at Carol at all. She stares out the window, and there’s a tension in her body that makes Carol feel truly awful. This was the wrong time to start… anything—even a friendship. God, what was she thinking? With the divorce still in process and Harge so increasingly volatile, Carol has enough to do just with keeping herself together. Why introduce this new complication? Just thinking of how Harge spoke to Therese, the accusation and disdain in him, reminds Carol that it’s not only her who stands to get hurt. Therese has been hurt. Already. Better to break the whole thing off before it goes any further. Before Carol can ruin another precious and beautiful thing.

She is half-determined to say as much at the train station, when she hears it. The faintest little inhale, shaky, which is the sound of someone trying not to cry.

Carol acts on impulse. The roads are dark and empty. She pulls off to the side, away from any potential traffic. She switches off the headlights but leaves the engines running, because it’s freezing outside and she doesn’t want Therese to be cold on top of everything.

For several moments, they are silent, only the moon to offer any illumination. Therese still looks out the window. Carol stares straight ahead, her heart pounding with emotions she struggles to name. What should she say to her? What can she say, that will make up for the past hour?

“I’m sorry.”

Carol’s almost surprised by her own voice. As if she didn’t even intend to speak. But now she has the rest of it comes out rather more quickly than she expects.

“I was terrible back at the house, I was so upset and I—I didn’t _think_. I should never have spoken to you like that. And I should never have put you in this position in the first place. I hope you can forgive me, Therese, it’s all… It’s all gone rather badly, I think.”

There are several more moments of silence, excruciating. In their short acquaintance Carol has already wondered more than once what Therese’s quietness means. Her large doe eyes are so expressive, and yet Carol rarely knows what the expressiveness means. Now, with Therese’s face turned away, Carol is even more untethered.

Then, finally, she hears her voice, soft, and low, “I want…”

She trails off. Carol watches her, feeling tense all over. When no more is forthcoming, she presses her, “Yes? What do you want? Tell me.”

She watches the girl breathe in deeply, and let it out, still turned away. “I want… to ask you things,” she says. “But… I don’t think you want that.”

A ripple of nerves goes through Carol, but also, a ripple of hope, of… longing.

“Ask me,” she says. Nearly begs her, _‘Please, ask me…’_

Finally, Therese turns her head. She doesn’t look at her, staring forward, but just the sight of her exquisite profile allows Carol to breathe a little easier. Though not for long.

“Do you do this often?” Therese asks.

Carol goes rigid. Her eyes narrow in a sudden flare of defensiveness. “Do what?” she asks, her voice flat and cold.

Therese gives a half shrug, looking down at her hands. “Befriend people,” she says. “People… people like me.”

Carol’s brow furrows.

“People like you?”

“Young, and… well, not rich, I suppose, or cultured, or interesting.”

“Therese, honestly,” Carol releases an exasperated sigh. “Do you think I would have asked you to my home if I didn’t think you were interesting? And as for not being rich, I hardly think—”

“What did Mr. Aird mean when he said, ‘bold’?”

Carol stops. Carol closes her eyes. Carol looks away. _‘God_ damn _it, Harge!’_

“You told him how we met, and he said, ‘That’s bold.’ What did he mean?”

 _‘Fuck,’_ Carol thinks, her jaw tensing, her nostrils flaring. _‘Fuck fuck fuck!’_

It’s rare that Carol finds herself completely speechless. More often she is fighting to keep her mouth _shut_ , to stop herself saying something that will only make her troubles worse. Now, however, when words are so needful, she goes blank, she stumbles, and then she starts rambling.

“Therese, I—I think—you must understand that Harge is—well, he’s always been rather jealous of my friends, and he—well, he says things sometimes when he’s upset. The crassest things. And I—I hope you won’t—I hope you don’t misunderstand, or think that I—”

A hand on hers stops everything. Carol looks toward her sharply and finds that in the dimness of the car Therese’s eyes are like twin jewels, shining at her. Her face is almost expressionless, except that Carol detects something beneath it, an undercurrent of feeling. The hand on top of hers grasps gently, and they both look, together. Carol is wearing her gloves. Therese’s hand is bare, her small, delicate fingers pressing Carol’s, her thumb moving almost unconsciously, to sweep across Carol’s thumb. Even with the gloves, Carol imagines she can feel it, and that feeling makes everything stutter inside her.

“Did he mean this?” Therese whispers.

Carol’s mouth goes dry. Even if she wanted to speak, she can’t. She stares at Therese’s face, as Therese stares at their hands. Therese, not waiting for her answer, asks ponderingly, “Is it like this, sometimes, between women?”

_‘Oh, God…’_

Carol swallows, trying to find her voice. Therese’s question, spoken so innocently, is somehow not innocent at all. Is bewitching. Is, whether Therese realizes it or not, one of the most arousing things that Carol has ever heard, and now heat is running through her, like a current. When Therese looks up into her eyes again, she feels pinned, feels dissected and seen, and wants it.

But she is afraid, too.

“I—” Carol clears her throat. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”

If Therese knows she is lying (Therese _must_ know she is lying) her face shows no consternation. Instead, she moves, scooting sideways in the seat. She turns, bringing her legs up behind her, so that she is sitting on her calves and suddenly close enough that Carol can see her eyelashes. Therese is still touching her hand, almost worshipfully, as if it is a marvel to her. And Carol, well—Carol can hardly breathe.

Therese says, softly, “When I saw you in Frankenburg’s, I thought you were the most incredible woman I had ever laid eyes on. And since then I… I feel as though I am… always thinking of you. You’re all I can think about. Is that strange?”

Carol’s lips part, and then close. Therese is sitting _so close_ to her; it’s becoming harder and harder to think. She feels intoxicated by her nearness, drunk on the potency of what is happening—Therese’s eyes, opening to a new world. A new possibility.

“Perhaps,” Carol finally rasps, feeling she ought to warn her at least. “It… perhaps it is strange.”

Therese nods pensively. Then, she reaches for the edge of Carol’s glove. She peels it up, slowly, until Carol’s wrist is bare. She brings her wrist to her lips, the most delicate kiss, like a knight errant. Carol’s entire body seems to light up, a charge going through her, potent as electricity.

“Therese,” she whispers, breathless, hoarse.

“Is this wrong?” Therese murmurs against her wrist. “Is this not what he meant… by ‘bold’?”

The faintest flicker of her tongue, against Carol’s threading pulse, and with a shudder Carol snatches her hand away—but only so that she can grab the back of Therese’s head, and pull her into her kiss.

They collide, the tension of the past few minutes cracking like a whip, lancing through them, and Carol can’t believe how soft and warm and sweet her mouth is. Can’t believe how _hungry_ she is, for the taste of her. She finds her chance, slides her tongue inside to stroke and tease, and Therese gasps in surprise.

All at once the power has changed hands. Moments ago Therese was like a siren, leading Carol into dangerous waters. Now, she is a woman again, and a young woman, needy. With Carol’s hands on her and Carol’s mouth devouring hers, she whimpers and fidgets and presses closer. Carol pulls her sideways until she is in her lap, the steering wheel wedged behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. She grabs Carol’s face and kisses her back with the urgency of someone who has never been kissed before—not really, anyway. Not _well_. And this is so arousing to Carol that she kisses harder. She pushes the tartan hat off Therese’s head, sliding fingers into her fine dark hair. Her other hand she uses to quickly unbutton Therese’s coat, to slip inside, to wrap around the small of her back and tug her impossibly closer. She’s so slight and warm in her arms, her mouth is so delicious and eager, that Carol is afraid she’s going to frighten her with the sudden ferocity of her want.

“Darling,” she moans, forcing herself to pull back just enough to speak. “Are you—is this—is this all right?”

“Yes,” Therese says instantly, nodding frantically and pressing closer. “Yes, Carol, yes.”

She grabs at Carol’s fur coat, running her hands all over it with a luxuriousness that reminds Carol of a preening cat, and then she reaches under it, and under the collar of Carol’s dress, so her fingers are suddenly pressed to Carol’s neck, her fingernails like the pricking claws of that cat, and when she touches Carol’s skin, she _purrs_ with pleasure. The sound makes Carol rub her thighs together, realizing suddenly that she is wet and hot and shivering with need. She barely knows this girl, and yet she wants her. She wants her nakedness, the smoothness of her pale skin, the surrender of her mouth. She wants to lay her out on the cool sheets of her bed and _worship_ her, kiss her and lick her and bite her and _fuck_ her until she screams.

Suddenly, light flashes through the car. Carol freezes, and so does Therese. Panic goes through her, images of a police car, of a patrolman strolling up to knock on the window. They could be _arrested_ for this—

But the light moves on. She hears the sound of the car going past, and releases a shuddering breath. It’s dark again, but they both continue to hold perfectly still, caught in the shock of what just happened, and of what is happening. What they’re doing. Therese pulls back, and their eyes meet. Therese’s lips are swollen. Her pupils are dilated. She’s breathing raggedly, and so is Carol, and it would be so easy to drag the girl back in. Except the passing car has brought an inkling of common sense back to her.

“Therese,” Carol murmurs, amazed at the rawness of her own voice. She lifts a hand, trailing the backs of her fingers carefully along Therese’s jaw. Therese presses into her hand, sighing, and Carol swallows hard. “What do you want?” she whispers.

She’d give her anything right now, caution be damned. If Therese wants it, she’ll take her back to the house. If she wants it, she’ll drag her into the backseat. The mere thought is too provocative, like being a teenager again. Only Therese has to tell her. It has to be her choice.

Their eyes still locked, something shifts in Therese’s expression. She tugs her bottom lip briefly between her teeth, and it’s all Carol can do not to wrestle that lip from her, suck it and bite it.

“I think,” Therese starts, and pauses. She shifts in Carol’s lap, which is entirely too distracting. “I think I should… I should probably go home.”

Inside, Carol whimpers with objection, but manages not to let the sound escape. Says only, with an easiness she doesn’t feel, “Of course, Darling. I—you’ve missed your train. I’ll drive you.”

Therese’s eyes drop; she looks suddenly shy, a complete departure from the girl who took her hand and kissed her wrist. She says, “No, I—there’ll be another train. I think… I think it’s better you take me to the station.”

Carol’s stomach plummets. _‘She wants to get away from you. You’ve gone too far. You’ve ruined it, like everything—’_

“All right,” she says, her own voice uncharacteristically meek. “If you’d prefer it.”

Therese shakes her head, eyes still lowered, looking torn. “It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just that… if you take me home, I’ll want you to come in.”

Carol swallows hard. She is not equipped for the emotional whiplash of this night!

“We don’t have to do anything,” she says gently.

At that, Therese’s eyes lift to hers, and she is the siren again, bewitching in her seriousness and her ethereal, moonlit beauty.

“That’s just it,” she whispers. “I want to do… everything.”

If Carol was wet before, she’s absolutely indecent now, so hot and sticky between her thighs that she’s genuinely afraid Therese will be able to smell it.

Therese goes on. “I just think… it’s been a very stressful night for you. I don’t want you to… feel rushed. So perhaps it would be better if we waited?”

Carol blinks. She’s utterly unprepared for this. For the sweetness of this, the gentleness and understanding, as if they really were teenagers, Therese her shy and considerate beau. After the night she’s had, after Harge’s acrimony, to be treated with such tenderness makes tears start in her eyes. She leans forward, pressing her lips to Therese’s in a soft and gentle kiss. Therese kisses her back, just as softly, and after a moment the girl lets out a shuddering sigh.

“Kissing never felt like that before,” she murmurs.

 _‘Nor for me,’_ thinks Carol in amazement. _‘God, nor for me. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with you.’_

“Will you let me see you again?” Carol whispers.

Therese pulls back from her lips, blinking dazedly, and then she frowns, as if the idea that they might not see each other is absurd. “Yes,” she says. “Of course.”

“Tomorrow?”

Those red lips pull apart in a truly angelic smile, dimples popping, eyes alight.

“Yes,” she says.

Carol smiles, a bit tremulous, her emotions at the surface. “I’ll take you to the train,” she says.

But they don’t go right away. There in the dark and warmth of the car, Therese is too beautiful for words. So they kiss again, sweet, and free.


	2. Would You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol has asked Therese if she would like to go away with her, and Therese says yes. They agree on the day after tomorrow. But can Therese wait that long?
> 
> PS: You can find the sequel to this chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649910/chapters/67656395

Eventually they had to come down from the roof. With the snow starting, it was far too cold. Not that Therese could really tell. She felt as if there was a soft and cozy fire burning in the center of her, a pleasure that felt like the warmth of red wine, sliding down her throat. She could not stop smiling, even though she was starting to be embarrassed by it and kept telling herself to stop. That Carol kept smiling, too, went some ways to alleviate her nerves, especially because Carol had been so weary and defeated just an hour ago. Now, with this new openness between them, and a trip on the horizon, it seemed beautiful that she could smile, and Therese couldn’t help smiling back.

Still, Therese thought she might be giving a little too much away. Whatever ‘much’ was. 

_‘What are you saying?’_ Richard had asked her, _‘Are you in love with a girl?’_

 _‘No,’_ she’d said, as if the very thought was ridiculous. And yet…

In the stairway, they didn’t speak, Therese walking ahead and hyper aware of Carol behind her. The steps creaked underfoot, and everything had the musty smell of old paint. So different from Carol’s house, and yet since Carol had come into her apartment, she had not gotten a single hint from her that she was put off by the space. No, Carol had only laid down her coat and gone straight to the kitchen to look at Therese’s photographs, reviewing each with the seriousness of a museum-goer. Therese had rarely felt so nervous. She thought in those moments, and thought still, that no one’s opinion of her work could matter as much as Carol’s.

Back in the apartment, she took stock of the kitchen, of the kettle still resting on the stove.

“Would you like more tea?” Therese asked, suddenly anxious to offer her something.

She turned to look at Carol and Carol’s eyes flitted away, as if she’d been caught staring. Had she been? Staring at Therese? The older woman glanced down at the mug in her hands and made a gesture.

“Oh,” she said, and came into the kitchen to put the mug in the sink. “No, thank you.” She ran her hands down the front of her skirt and glanced at the hanging photographs, a smile quirking her lips before she looked at Therese once more. “It’s actually getting rather late. I should probably be going.”

It was all Therese could do to hide her disappointment. She had to remind herself what a difficult day this had been for Carol, how fragile she had seemed when she first arrived, and that after everything she must be exhausted. Therese didn’t want to be selfish, even though she knew that, when it came to Carol, she was.

“All right,” she said, and glanced toward the kettle again, switching it from one burner to the other just to have something to do.

And anyway, she told herself, this moment was far better than on the roof, when Carol had said, _‘I’m going away for a while.’_ Those words had affected her in a way she could barely articulate. She’d felt bereft, despairing, angry a little, and almost panicked. To lose Carol so suddenly when she had just found her—

But then came that other moment, which felt like a different world from the first, _‘And I… thought, perhaps, you might like to come with me.’_

Therese faced her again, found her looking at her again, with a slight smile. Her eyes shone, just as they had on the roof, when Therese said, _‘Yes, I would.’_

And now Therese was smiling again, too, and they were both smiling, but shyly, not sure what to do next. Something had shifted between them, like a door clicking open and letting in a new source of light. Neither quite knew what to do with so much brightness.

Carol asked, “How soon could you be ready? To leave?”

 _‘Now,’_ Therese almost said, but controlled herself, offered a casual, “Oh, any time, really.”

Carol’s brow furrowed. “What about your job?”

“It was only a holiday position. I’ve got a little money saved, and, well—I can always get another job.”

Carol considered this, and Therese wondered if she sounded careless. Carol looked solemn now, not light and happy as she had a moment ago, and her next words were almost cautious.

“What about Richard?”

Just his name set Therese on edge. She did not want to think about Richard, Richard pestering her about Paris, telling her he loved her, saying, _‘Let’s get married!’_ as if she could _ever_ —

“Oh, he’ll be all right,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say, and because she didn’t want to talk about it. Carol nodded, still with that serious look, and something in her eyes that Therese couldn’t interpret. Eager to change the subject, Therese looked past Carol, to the living room and her new camera sitting on the coffee table. She smiled brightly at the sight of it, “Thank you, again, for the camera. It’ll be so swell to have it on our trip.”

This, at last, broke through Carol’s seriousness. She, too, looked at the camera, and then grinned in that sultry, mischievous way she had, “Yes. You’ll be our little documentarian.”

Therese grinned, “I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures of you, for posterity.”

Carol barked a laugh, groaning, “Oh, God, please don’t! I’m afraid I’ve never been very photogenic.” 

Therese couldn’t help herself. She smirked. She took the picture of Carol that was hanging in the kitchen. She stared down at it for several moments, studying it as she walked up to Carol, and looked up at her and said, “I’ve got evidence to the contrary.”

She had meant it as a joke. She had meant it to tease her. But she had ended up stepping closer than she meant to, and when she looked up, they were right in front of each other. Their eyes locked. The look in Carol’s eyes made Therese go still and quiet, even as a new sensation shot through her limbs. She felt pinned in place by Carol’s eyes, the gray gone dark-edged as storm clouds, the bow of her mouth parted as if she would speak. But she didn’t. She only gazed down at Therese for long, tense moments.

Then, she murmured, “What a dear you are.”

Therese swallowed, and finally found enough self-control to drop her eyes. To step away. It felt imperative that she step away, though she didn’t want to. She heard Carol let out a little sigh, as of someone shaking themselves awake.

“Well, then,” she said briskly. “How about day after tomorrow?”

Even amidst her unexpected nervousness, the words filled Therese with joy. She hung up the photograph again and smiled at Carol. “Yes,” she said. “That sounds fine.”

Carol gave a definitive nod. “All right, then. In that case, I had better go.”

“I’ll walk you down.”

“Oh, no need,” said Carol airily, though something about it felt not quite genuine—almost like a mask. Carol approached her with the straight-backed regality that had defined her in Frankenburg’s, and bending swiftly, pressed her lips to the corner of Therese’s mouth, an elegant kiss goodbye.

Therese was not prepared. If she had been prepared, she could have handled it all differently. But the flood of Carol’s perfume, the satin brush of her cheek, the warmth of her lips, all combined to throw Therese into a tailspin of sensation and want and need, and before she could stop herself, she was catching her breath, as sharp and loud as if someone had pinched her.

Carol froze, and Therese froze, and caught in that stillness, all they had was the scent and warmth and nearness of each other, and Therese’s heart beat like a war drum in her chest, and her skin felt like it was glowing from the inside. 

“I’m sorry, Therese,” murmured Carol, her voice low. “Am I too familiar with you?”

Therese swallowed, said, “No.”

Carol drew back just enough to look at her. She wore that serious expression again, but also, she was smiling a little, a combination of humor, and melancholy. As if to herself, she mused, “I wonder if you know what I’m asking?”

Therese bristled. This was not the first time that Carol had implied that Therese was young and maybe even a little foolish, but it struck a newly exposed nerve, and Therese straightened her shoulders, looking Carol directly in the eyes.

“You must think I’m very naïve,” she said, a haughty edge to her voice. Carol blinked at her. “I wonder why you would ask me to go away with you, if you think I’m so naïve.”

Carol’s startled looked melted into amusement, which sent a flutter through Therese’s belly.

“Does naivety automatically make someone an unpleasant traveling companion?” she drawled.

Therese knew she was only teasing her, but the coolness of her, when Therese felt so flighty, made her want to strike back with her own wit.

“Perhaps you’re the naïve one,” she said.

A raised eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You act as if a friend has never kissed me before.”

The smile again, edging from amusement to delight, Carol’s eyes sparkling. She said, “I imagine many of your friends have tried to kiss you.”

“Yes,” Therese confirmed. “Though if you mean it like that… you _would_ be the first woman.” 

Carol’s eyes darkened, the storm clouds gathering, and Therese thought she knew but couldn’t be sure of what she saw: jealousy, and also desire.

“And what did you do, when these men kissed you?” Carol’s voice was deep and throaty, a hint of challenge in it.

Therese hesitated, not sure what to say, not sure the truth wouldn’t make her seem more naïve than ever, but the focus of Carol’s gaze, the tiny smile that still quirked her lip, like a dare, made anything but honesty impossible.

“Most of the time,” she said. “I waited for it to be over.”

Carol’s eyes seemed to blaze.

“Then they weren’t doing it right.”

She was still standing very close to her, and Therese was breathing harder now, her skin and her nerves and her veins seeming to shimmer under the intensity of Carol’s stare.

“What would have been right?” Therese asked.

“You know it when you feel it,” Carol demurred.

“How do you know?”

“When you’re not waiting for it to stop. When it’s right, you don’t want it to stop.”

Therese swallowed, temporarily losing her nerve. She thought about looking down, stepping away, breaking whatever spell this was.

“I—” she started, and then—

In the split second before she pressed her lips to Carol’s, she saw her eyes widen, startled. It was almost enough to make her stop. But she was already lifting onto her toes, and momentum carried her the rest of the way, carried her into the soft plushness of Carol’s lips.

For a moment, it was still and silent between them, just that gentle pressure, tethering them to each other. Therese thought, _‘I’ve made a mistake,’_ and _‘What must she think of me?’_ and _‘What should I_ do _?’_ but no ideas were forthcoming, and she might have stood there frozen for minutes on end, except then she heard it: Carol’s soft, tremulous sigh.

With a surge of daring, she pressed closer, pressed in, capturing Carol’s top lip between both of hers. Carol’s body was rigid, but her mouth yielded, growing softer, growing pliant as she let Therese kiss her. Therese tried to understand this contrast, between the tension in Carol, and the soft little sound she made, which must be longing. Must be desire. Only she didn’t act on it. She only stood there, hands at her sides, with Therese pressing carefully up against her.

“Carol,” Therese murmured, into her barely open mouth. “Kiss me.”

Carol breathed in sharply, and then—it was like a wave coming in. She flowed forward in a surge, arm slinging around Therese’s waist, mouth molding to hers with a hungry sound. Suddenly, Therese’s head was tipping back, her hands gripping Carol’s shoulders, and the kiss was sending a low vibration through her body. It was still gentle, and yet it was deep, like she had gone under the waves and was submerged now in a warm and quiet ocean that was Carol’s smell and Carol’s taste and Carol’s body, flush with hers. Kissing Richard hadn’t felt like this. Kissing Dannie hadn’t felt like this. Because nothing else could feel like this, because no one else was Carol, and Carol was everything good and beautiful and safe and—

“Kiss me,” Therese said again, her voice raw, her hands sliding up into Carol’s hair. 

Carol moaned, and it was like a shot going off. She pressed closer, aggressively closer, and her mouth wrestled Therese’s open and when Therese felt the liquid slide of her tongue, she shuddered.

Carol’s arm tightened around her. Carol moved her backwards, seemed almost to lift her and carry her backwards, til a kitchen chair was clattering aside and Therese’s ass hit the table’s edge. Carol kept moving her, kept pressing her, helping her sit up on the table and then pushing up her skirt and moving between her legs, kissing harder, ferocious.

“Do you want me to stop?” Carol panted.

“No,” Therese gasped, “No, I never want it to stop.”

Carol growled, actually _growled_ at her, pressing in tight and grabbing her thigh and pulling it up, around her hip, as she kissed her. Therese shook, feeling the heat of her, tight, between her legs. She reached for the hem of Carol’s shirt, untucking it and sliding in, under her clothes. Her skin was like silk, her mouth was like an overripe fruit, soft and sweet as she devoured her. She felt an ache, deep in the center of her body, and sharp, in the tightness of her nipples, and she knew she was wet. She’d never been wet with another person before, certainly not Richard. But just this, just a few minutes of this reckless kissing in her kitchen, and Therese could feel her underwear, sticking slickly to her labia, could _feel_ her clit, hard and throbbing with need, and she suddenly felt that if Carol didn’t touch her, she would die.

But Carol wrenched her mouth away, gasping.

“No,” Therese moaned, reaching for her, almost whining, “No, please—”

“Shhh,” Carol said, pressing her forehead against Therese’s, letting go of her thigh but not stepping back. “Wait, my sweet girl, just… wait.”

Therese waited, her heart racing, her fingers digging into Carol’s back as if to keep her from moving away. Carol was breathing raggedly. After a moment she pulled back enough that they could look into each other’s eyes, and Carol’s were dilated and heavy.

“Darling,” she said. “Have you… have you ever done this before?”

At first Therese didn’t know what she meant, because of course she hadn’t, but then understanding was like a comet streaking across the sky, streaking across her skin. 

“I’m not a virgin, Carol,” she told her, even though some part of her felt that she was. That if she were with Carol, like that, it would be so many galaxies away from her wretched experiences with Richard that she might as well be a virgin.

Carol looked surprised. Therese realized that Carol really did think was naïve, thought she was innocent, of everything. Therese nudged up, under Carol’s chin, stroking her nose against the hammering pulse in her throat, and this time, _Carol_ whimpered.

“I know what this is,” Therese told her. “I know what I want. And I want you, Carol. I want you so much.”

She put her mouth where her nose had been. She opened her mouth and kissed her, wet and needy with the hint of her tongue and the hint of her teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” Carol gasped, her fingers digging into Therese’s waist.

For the first time in her life, Therese felt the sensation of power that came with knowing that she was the object of another person’s desire. Of course she had known it about men before, but that had not made her feel powerful, only awkward, and embarrassed. _This_ —this was like a drug.

“Don’t you want me?” she asked, because she knew innately what that question would do to Carol, and knowing it, and using it, felt like an irresistible assertion of her will. She slid her mouth up Carol’s jawline, whispering against her ear, “I know you do. _Please_.”

Carol shivered. She released an agonized groan, as if she were being tortured.

“Therese,” she said helplessly. “It’s not that… It’s not—of course I want you. I want you badly, Dearest, only I—I don’t know if we should—”

“Why?” Therese asked, and slid down until she had Carol’s lips again, and kissed her fiercely, open-mouthed. “Why shouldn’t we, if it’s what we both want?”

Carol panted into her kiss, said in a raw voice, “You’re so _young_.”

That only irritated Therese, made her feel rebellious and determined, and she bit Carol’s bottom lip, a quick nip of demand. Carol reeled back, staring at her in amazement. Therese stared right back, feeling charged with the power she had just discovered.

“I am not a child,” Therese told her, though she thought she sounded a little willful, as a child might.

Then, after a moment Carol smiled at her. Carol reached up and cupped her face with a tenderness that made all Therese’s pique evaporate.

“No, Darling, you’re not a child,” she said. “And I’ll trust you that you know what you want. But if you know it, and I know it, then… is there any harm in taking our time?”

Therese thought there was quite a lot of harm, if being forced to wait would make her spontaneously explode.

“Why?” she asked again. Why should they wait? How could anyone wait, after discovering something like this?

Carol smiled again, adoringly. “Because I want to be good to you. Not pounce on you the second I can.”

One part of Therese thought this was quite ridiculous, while another part—melted. Richard had said he was happy to wait, but it had always been clear what he wanted, and when she finally let him stay the night, he was rough and careless with her, and hurt her. Therese knew that with Carol it could not be like that. And so even in spite of herself she found Carol’s words rather… romantic.

Still, she was not about to be put off like some delicate maiden.

“How long?” she demanded. Carol blinked at her. “How long do you want to wait?” she clarified.

Carol’s lips quirked, delight flickering in her eyes, as if Therese had surprised her in the most fantastic way. She moved closer, and Therese’s breath hitched just before Carol’s lips pressed gently to the corner of her mouth, as they had minutes ago.

“Day after tomorrow, didn’t you say?” Her voice had gone low and sultry again, rough, like she’d been drinking whiskey. Her lips moved under Therese’s eye, delicate as the brush of wings. “We’ll go away together,” she murmured, and kissed the tip of Therese’s nose. “It will be just us. Just you and me.” She kissed her jaw. “Can you wait that long, Therese? Would you be patient for me? And wait?”

Then Therese knew that if she had only just discovered the potency of holding power over another, Carol had learned the trick of it years ago, because with so little effort she reduced Therese to weak, whimpering sighs. Therese reached for her, like someone desperate, and Carol indulged her, let her drag their mouths together, let her pour all her impatience and need into the kiss, which Carol gave right back to her, fierce and hungry. They kissed for long minutes, bodies pressed tight together, and though Therese rather desperately wanted more, she made herself refrain. Made herself be patient. For Carol.

When at last they pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard, both their mouths swollen, their eyes wild, their desire utterly equal.

“Day after tomorrow?” Therese asked.

And Carol’s mouth curved with sinful promise.

“Day after tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the end of this as a sort of mirror to the end of 'Bold.' I wanted to show that, given the circumstances, each woman could be ridiculously thirsty, and each could be obnoxiously chivalrous. Hope it works!
> 
> Also, for some reason I have trouble imagining them actually having sex this early on. What can I say? I dig a slow burn.


	3. If the Rate's Attractive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Therese pulls back, her eyes are averted, her cheeks flaming. She reaches for her glass, drinking, and Carol’s heart pounds. Was that too much? Is she too much? Too greedy, too forward, too—desperate, to have this woman near her? She thinks, ‘Make a joke. Diffuse this,’ but her mind goes blank.

This is Carol’s second glass of whiskey. She’s not drunk, but she feels loose and relaxed and happy. As she applies Therese’s makeup, the girl keeps smiling. Carol’s fingers will brush against her cheek, her chin, the fall of her hair, and Therese will smile in a sweet, pleased way that makes Carol’s own smile bloom, unstoppable.

“Don’t blink!” she orders sharply, and Therese just smiles, opening her brilliant green eyes wider as Carol applies the last stroke of mascara. “There,” she says.

“I need lipstick,” Therese informs her.

Carol watches her select the shade and can’t help laughing, both delighted and adoring as Therese lets her apply this, too, her lips a perfect bow. She rubs them together, pops them, and the record finishes.

“Again,” Carol says, grandly, as if they are two queens in their throne room and can have all the music they want.

Therese scurries to the record player, resets it, and comes back to her. 

“Take a look at yourself,” Carol says, holding up the mirror, wanting Therese to see how charming, how lovely, how perfect she looks. Therese observes and lets out a soft, shy laugh that makes Carol laugh, too, “Beautiful!” a song of joy in her heart as she takes another sip from her glass. Ever since they checked in, that song has been growing. Set to the tune of “Easy Living,” but with new words like, _‘Why not take the Presidential suite?’_ Words like, _‘Why not share a room?’_ Like _‘Do you feel safe with me?’_ And Carol’s thoughts are the chorus: _‘Yes, yes, yes.’_

“Okay, next?” Therese asks.

She seems relaxed, too—as happy as Carol has ever seen her, so much less the shy girl, growing every day into a more confident and familiar and irresistible woman. Yet when Carol proposed doing her make-up she was like a child on Christmas. Nothing can touch the sweet youthfulness of Therese, which over these past few days has grown a more and more potent drug. 

Carol picks up the bottle of perfume, directing, “Would mademoiselle be so kind as to apply to her pulse points only?” Therese does, an adorable smile on her face. Carol holds out her own wrist, “Me, too.”

Therese applies the cool tip of the perfume dropper to her wrist, and Carol brings it immediately to her face, before massaging it into her neck and then rubbing her wrists together, sighing, “Oh, that’s divine.” Then, with a glance at Therese, “Smell that.”

She could have offered her wrist, but she crooks her neck instead, beckoning, and without hesitation Therese leans into her. Suddenly they are closer than they have ever been, Therese’s face against her throat, the tip of her nose, the softest brush of her lips, all holding still and exquisite for a moment.

When Therese pulls back, her eyes are averted, her cheeks flaming. She reaches for her glass, drinking, and Carol’s heart pounds. Was that too much? Is _she_ too much? Too greedy, too forward, too— _desperate_ , to have this woman near her? She thinks, _‘Make a joke. Diffuse this,’_ but her mind goes blank. She takes a sip of her own drink, wondering if she should toast something, but then—

“To us?” asks Therese, holding up her own glass. She’s still blushing, her eyes wide and dark, but the little smile is back on her lips.

Carol grins, clinking their glasses together. “Yes, to us.”

They drink, and Therese puts the glass down so she can smell her own wrist again, eyes fluttering shut in an expression so close to ecstasy that Carol feels heat slide through her belly and thighs. Carol watches her, swirling the whiskey in her own glass, enraptured. 

“You’ll spoil me,” Therese informs her, smirking. “I could never afford such nice things.”

“Well then, Dearest, you will simply have to let me buy them for you.”

Therese laughs, rolls her eyes. “Oh, is that what you want? To buy me nice things? You already paid a fortune for that camera.”

“Yes, well,” Carol shrugs, indolent. “Consider it my endorsement of the arts.”

Then the smile on Therese’s face spreads, becomes so tender, so moved, that Carol forgets she was joking and realizes that she meant it, absolutely. Because Therese _is_ an artist. Her watchfulness. Her eye for light and shadow. The way she takes each photo so carefully, like she is casting a spell over the frame. There is no other word for her. Except, perhaps, beautiful.

“Well, if you’re to be my benefactress,” Therese says dryly. “You must know that it’s customary for artists to do portraits of their patrons.”

Carol groans, tossing back her head, “Oh, God, not this again.”

But Therese is grinning impishly, darting to the bed and coming back with the camera. With her pajama pants rolled up over her ankles, she is too precious for words. She kneels down where she was before.

“Just a few?” she says. “Please, that lamp behind you is creating the perfect light.”

“All right,” Carol sighs. “But I’m not smiling.”

Therese already has the camera up to her face, but Carol sees the amused grin behind it. To her complete surprise, she feels something happening to her face. Heat, rising in her cheeks. Jesus Christ, she’s _blushing_. Blushing because a pretty girl is taking her picture. For the next minute, maybe longer, the _click click click_ of the shutter is the dominant sound in the room, seeming even to drown out Billie Holiday, whose song is nearing its end again. Therese winds the camera and then inches closer. Though she was sitting on her heels before now she rises up onto her knees, changing the angle of her shots so that Carol must lift her eyes.

“Carol,” Therese murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Will you—will you just brush your hair back? Just a little?”

Carol hesitates. Considers. With a swooping sensation she replies, casual, “How, exactly? Perhaps you’d better just do it yourself.”

 _Click_ goes the shutter. Therese peaks out from behind it, her smile gone and her eyes deep as wells.

“You are the _artiste_ , after all,” Carol says.

Therese lifts a hand, the backs of her fingers brushing Carol’s eyebrow as she slowly, carefully, moves a lock of hair that had slipped down. She readjusts it along the wave over Carol’s ear, fingertips sliding down, touching the rim of her ear and then the lobe. A long, slow caress, that Carol is certain wasn’t necessary to achieve her goal. Carol swallows, her heart pounding. She watches Therese disappear behind the camera again, swift as a rabbit darting into its warren. _Click click click_.

“Carol,” Therese murmurs. Her voice is soft, a little hoarse. “You really are… so magnificent.”

Carol exhales slowly through her nostrils. She picks up her whiskey glass and swallows down the last mouthful, aware of Therese taking a picture as she does.

“If I had ever gone to school for photography,” Therese keeps talking, “I think you would have been just the sort of woman they asked to model for the students.”

Carol’s pulse quickens, her fingers starting to itch. She wants to move. She wants to touch. Therese, knelt so close to her, is like a piece of fruit just out of reach. Is this what Therese wants? She said they should share a room. She agreed to come on this trip. Not simply out of girlish admiration (Carol recognized that in her right away) but because of something deeper, something that perhaps has been drawing her along just as urgently as it’s drawing Carol. And Carol, who has been careful, and patient, always conscious of her inexperience, feels now that she is on the verge of losing all control.

“Don’t those models tend to pose nude?” she asks.

Therese stops in the middle of winding the camera. She’s looking down at it in her hands, and Carol sees the way her fingers clench. It’s like when Carol touched her shoulders at the piano. Brief, but telling. She finishes winding the camera and looks up. This time, she doesn’t hide behind her instrument, but looks at Carol directly.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “I suppose. Though I don’t like picturing that.”

Carol’s heart stutters. How could she have misunderstood so badly? Then Therese goes on. “I don’t like the thought of you in a classroom, like that. With so many other people looking at you.”

 _‘Oh, fuck…’_ Carol thinks. Her breaths deepening. Her skin warming as rapidly as if a furnace had just come on, and perhaps it's that blast of heat in her veins, or perhaps it’s the whiskey, or perhaps it’s just Therese, gorgeous Therese, her eyes like gems, but Carol parts her lips and whispers—

“You’re the only photographer here.”

They stare at each other. The record has stopped, is scratching somewhere in the background, seems somehow to be holding time to a standstill. Therese’s shoulders are moving with her slow, deep breaths, and her lips are parted in a way that makes Carol want to lunge at her. Instead, Carol reaches for the tie of her robe. She does it slowly, watching Therese, looking for signs that she has it all wrong. Therese’s eyes drop to her fingers, pulling the robe apart. She lets it slip off, onto the carpet behind her. Then, equally slowly, she reaches for the buttons of her sleep shirt, one after another, parting them down the middle.

_Click._

_Click._

Carol can feel the air on her exposed chest, on the strip of skin visible between the sides of the shirt, and suddenly she feels a hit of panic, realizing what she’s doing. With Harge, with her other lovers, sex happened in the dark. With Abby, they were always rushed; sometimes they didn’t even get undressed. It has been years since someone saw her naked in the light, where every blemish is so visible. What can her body do, except disappoint? Especially a woman as young and lovely as Therese?

But Therese whispers, “Don’t stop.”

Carol has never had any trouble saying no to her lovers in bed. She is blessed with an innate confidence in that department. But to say no to Therese, about this—it wouldn’t be confidence. Hands trembling, she slips the shirt away, nipples puckering the instant they are exposed. Her breasts feel heavy. Her stomach muscles flutter.

_Click._

And, “Keep going,” Therese urges.

As if in a trance, Carol obeys. She reaches for the waistband of her sleep pants. She draws up her knees, lifts her hips, and rolls the fabric down over her pelvis and thighs, past her calves, to land in a bunch by her feet. She stretches one of her legs out again, keeps the other bent and angled, resting her arm across it in a way that does not hide her body, but gives her some confidence. She is not just sprawling naked and uncouth. Her head is high, her shoulders straight. With a start of equal parts embarrassment and delight, she realizes that she’s _posing_. If Therese wants a model, then she’ll have one.

Therese’s face is still mostly obscured by the camera—but not all of it. Carol can see that her jaw is slack. That her brows are drawn. Her fingers hold the camera tight enough that her knuckles look white. Her voice, at last, is a rasp, “Turn your head. Just to the left.”

Carol swallows, and does. Therese says. “Tilt your chin. Just a little. Yes, up.”

_Click._

“Cross both your arms over your knee... Let your wrists dangle… Good.”

Like this, Carol feels almost modest, all her secret places obscured. Carol imagines this picture, imagines Therese developing it in her dark room. A picture tasteful enough for a museum. But then Therese tells her to move her knee a little to the right, and the quiet authority in her voice is the most erotic thing Carol has ever experienced. If Therese asks her to move much more, then she’ll be able to see between her legs. To see how aroused she is. Carol doesn’t know if she wants this, or fears it.

Therese winds her camera quickly. Licks her lips and gets back to work, but not before their eyes catch. Therese’s eyes are black and heavy with lust, her cheeks flaming, the pulse in her throat visible.

“Do you know,” Carol says, “I never thought this part of it was fair.”

It takes Therese a moment to answer, perhaps too distracted, too overwhelmed, “What’s that?”

“How the model has to be naked, but the artist gets to wear her clothes.”

Therese’s throat moves again, convulsive. Therese says, “Stretch your legs out. Cross your ankles.”

Carol does, and if she is now more exposed than ever, the signs of Therese’s desire, the signs that Therese is crumbling, erode some of her own anxiety.

“Lean back on your elbows,” Therese is whispering now. In this new position, Carol can feel the lamplight spilling over her breasts and shoulders. The carpet at least is softer than she feared, and with her elbows braced and her hands flat, she digs her fingers into the pile, needing something to hold onto. Therese says. “Wouldn’t that be unprofessional? For the artist to be naked, too?”

“Oh, no,” Carol assures her, perhaps a little too quickly for decency’s sake, but she is feeling decidedly indecent now, and reckless, and _full_ of hunger. “More like… equal.”

Abruptly, Therese sets her camera on the sofa and stands up. She walks over to the still scratching record player, and moves the needle off the record. Carol watches her stand there for a moment, with her back turned. When she faces Carol again, her fingers are already reaching for the tie of her robe. She shrugs it off, going for her buttons. Carol groans, soft and aching and unashamed for Therese to hear it. She forces herself to hold her pose, finger nails almost gouging holes in the rug. The proprietress of The McKinley Motel won’t thank her for that. But how can she be blamed, when Therese slips the shirt off her shoulders, and lets the pants drop from her hips? She has no underwear on, and Carol stares at the dark thatch of hair guarding her sex, and at the trim lines of her thighs rising up to delicately flared hips, and the curve of her waist leading to two small, pert breasts.

“Perhaps I should use the camera next,” Carols says.

Therese blushes brighter, but her eyes are fiery. She returns to Carol, picking up her camera again. Then suddenly—Carol nearly chokes—she slips forward to straddle Carol’s upper thighs. Carol feels the wiry scratch of her pubic hair, but more than that, she feels the heart of her, and when Therese shifts, a streak of wetness stays behind.

“Oh, God, Therese,” she whimpers.

Therese is practically gasping for breath. “Lie back,” she says.

Carol obeys, practically collapsing, and perched over her Therese takes another picture, and another, and another. Carol can’t stand it for long. Her fingers inch forward, finding Therese’s knee caps. Therese shifts, rocking forward into the slide of Carol’s palms, up her thighs.

_Click click click._

Carol’s thumbs find the crease between her thighs and mons, rubbing gently, and Therese jerks, sighing, “Oh…”

Carol keeps going. Slips her thumb closer, deeper. Spreads her own thighs carefully because it forces Therese’s thighs further apart, and then all at once she can feel her—Oh, fuck, she can _feel_ her, soft and hot and slippery, dripping. Therese shudders, slapping the camera down on the sofa, grabbing for Carol’s hand. For a split-second Carol is horrified, thinking Therese didn’t want this, but—no, Therese doesn’t yank her hand away. She keeps it right where it is, Carol’s thumb pressed against the hard and swollen point of her. Her body rocks; her eyes squeeze shut and her head tips back, exposing the creamy column of her throat. Carol wants to rise up and bury her nose there, to smell the perfume at her pulse point. But there is an even better smell emanating from Therese now, thick and heavy and addictive. Carol moves her thumb in slow, steady circles, and Therese sobs.

“Oh, _God!_ ”

She is so beautiful, so exquisite in her surrender, that Carol can’t help teasing her, “What about your pictures, Sweetheart?”

“I—I—”

“No dedication to your task? What will your patron think?”

“P-please—Carol, please—”

“Shhh,” Carol soothes her. “Does it feel good?”

Therese sobs again, nodding frantically, her eyes still shut in an agony of pleasure. Her thighs flex, quivering, and she puts her hands behind her, braced on Carol’s legs, pushing her own chest forward as she starts twitching her hips toward Carol’s hand. Carol keeps stroking, keeps circling. In all the ways she imagined finally being able to touch Therese, no scenario even approaching this ever occurred to her. And yet it is the most perfect, overwhelming, masterful thing. She only wishes she had Therese underneath her. Could crawl all over her, could lick and suck her breasts and bite her shoulders and put her mouth between her legs, slide her fingers into the tightness of her cunt. Wishes she could kiss her, too, and feel the flicker of her tongue, feel the hunger of her mouth. Carol would do all these things, would flip them in a heartbeat and put Therese on her back—if the action of one gently stroking thumb didn’t have the girl shivering so beautifully for her, on the verge of collapse.

“Look at me, Therese,” she whispers.

Therese groans. Her eyes blink open and she tips her head down enough that they are staring right at each other. Carol starts circling faster, just a little more pressure.

“Yes,” Therese gasps.

“Like that?”

“Yes! I—Carol—I—”

“Good girl,” Carol praises, and Therese starts shaking. Carol rubs harder. It’s so hot and slick between her legs that Carol can feel it, leaking onto her own thighs, and Carol’s sex clenches. She’s wet too, desperately wet, desperately needing to see this, this glorious release. With her free hand she grasps Therese’s hip, holding the girl in place as she starts shaking harder. “That’s right. Show me. My angel—show me.”

And all at once Therese cries out—freezes for a moment, her clit throbbing against Carol’s thumb, before in a rush she’s shaking and moaning and coming, God, she’s coming so hard, her fingernails digging into their purchase on Carol’s legs, her eyes squeezed shut, a red flush spreading across her chest. She trembles and pulses and moans, and Carol can’t stand it anymore. She pushes up, slings an arm around her waist, brings their upper bodies together. Instantly, Therese puts her arms around her shoulders, presses her face into Carol’s hair, and Carol’s thumb still wedged between them starts to circle slower, gentler, following the rhythm of her release, until at last she stills—and Therese practically melts in her arms.

She holds her close. Murmurs words of praise and adoration against her ear. The crisis has passed, but Therese keeps moving and rippling like a ribbon caught in a breeze. Whole minutes seem to pass, Therese coming down slowly, her breaths hot on the side of Carol’s face. Gradually, she calms, but keeps her face hidden against Carol. Carol runs her hands up and down her back, soothing her, and finally asks, “Therese? Darling? Are you all right?”

She hears Therese swallow. Then, as if marshaling all her courage, the girl pulls back to look at her. Her eyes are glassy, sated, beautiful. Carol can hardly stand how _beautiful_ she is. But there’s something else in her expression. Something akin to fear. Carol’s heart stutters.

“What is it?” she asks.

Therese gives a little shake of her head, as if she doesn’t have the words. She is damp all over, her hot skin filmed with sweat, and Carol thinks absently that she will get cold soon. They should go to the bed. Climb under the covers. See what kind of heat they can generate—but only if Therese wants it. And Therese’s dazed, slightly worried frown, makes her suddenly afraid—

“Tell me,” Carol says, because if Therese regrets this, she needs to know now, while there might be time to save her heart from breaking.

Therese swallows again, her voice an exhausted rasp when she whispers, “Is this real?”

Carol melts, seized with equal parts desire, and adoration. She wants to kiss Therese, to murmur vows into her mouth, to hold her and possess her and be possessed by her, until all her past pains are just weak memory in the shadow of Therese’s light.

Voice cracking, she answers, “If you want it to be.”

Therese leans forward, resting her forehead on Carol’s, lifting one hand to tease the baby hairs on Carol’s neck; lifting the other to touch her jaw, very gently. Carol’s skin is on fire.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

Carol sighs with longing. She remembers that first time in the toy department, their eyes locking through the crowd, how unprepared she was for the sight of this doe-eyed, elfin girl with her ridiculous and charming Santa Hat on, her figure like a dream, her little dimpled smile when she helped her at the counter.

“That long?” asks Carol, though she knows it was the same for her. Affinity. Instantaneous.

Therese says, “Longer.”

And finally, finally, she kisses her. 


	4. Table for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From roadside dumps to the Drake Hotel, Therese has admirers wherever they go. But when it comes to Carol, there's no contest. Now if only Carol could figure that out.

The restaurant was just as beautiful and elegant as every other part of the Drake, from the hostess who seated them to the silver place settings to the dapper waiter who advised Carol on wine pairings for the various specials. Therese took it all in, eyes wide, and always drifting back to Carol. Who, as usual, looked spectacular in her beige dress with three-quarter sleeves, her delicate bracelets and earrings, and her black suede pumps. She was the very picture of what a Drake guest should be. Therese felt comparatively plain, but she was buoyed by Carol’s quick wink in the lobby, and by the fact the waiter was not ignoring her as so many of them did, but was polite and warm, as if she belonged right where was.

The menu was slightly overwhelming. Therese could sense that Carol wanted her to get something decadent, because she had already told her she would be paying tonight. “You bought us lunch, after all.”

Lunch, at a burger stand off the highway, had cost $1.25. 

But while the vast differential in her and Carol’s social class did sometimes make Therese insecure, tonight, she was too happy for that. They had had a wonderful drive, full of laughter and conversation, and Carol in her slacks and flannel jacket had looked so fine that Therese could barely stop cutting glances at her all day. More than once she’d felt Carol returning those looks, with a new intensity in her eyes. It made Therese’s blood sing.

When the waiter came back, Carol ordered a steak with potatoes and greens, while Therese was still floundering over the menu. She was on the verge of just repeating Carol’s order, when the waiter leaned a little closer, asking gently, “Do you care for lamb, Miss?”

Therese blinked up at him, realizing for the first time that he was young, like her. Perhaps he recognized, in her, what he saw in himself—a person who had unexpectedly ended up amidst the wealthy and was just trying to carry it off. She felt innately that he wanted to help her, so she nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Then may I suggest the lamb roast with parsnips and green beans? It’s quite good and will pair nicely with the wine your guest has ordered.”

“Yes,” Therese said in relief, “that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Certainly, Miss.”

He smiled at her, took their menus, and went away. Therese let out a slow breath and looked up. Carol was watching her, one corner of her mouth tilted in amusement. Therese asked self-consciously, “Should I have ordered something else?”

The smirk moved into a grin, but it was not mocking. It felt very much like the moment in the lobby, when she had remembered their room number and Carol had been surprised and delighted by her. Carol said, “Darling, you can order whatever you like. I only want you to have a good time tonight.”

Therese felt sure there was more to it than that, but then Carol began to ask her opinion of the hotel, and soon it all got swept up in conversation. They had come so far from their first slightly awkward date at Scotty’s, when Therese’s awe of Carol left her frequently tongue-tied. They had no such trouble now, and over the next hour it seemed they never stopped smiling, never stopped talking. The food was just as delicious as Therese expected, and she told the waiter so when he came to take away the dinner plates. He looked pleased.

“Very good, Miss. Your coffee will be right out. Are you sure I can’t interest either of you in the desert tray? Something sweet to round out the evening?”

His smile was wide and earnest.

“Oh, thank you, no, I couldn’t eat another bite!” Therese beamed, “What about you, Carol?”

She looked at the older woman, startled to find that once again Carol had an amused smile playing at her lips. She made a dismissive gesture, eyes never leaving Therese, and the waiter left them. When he was gone, Therese raised her eyebrows at Carol, wondering what was wrong.

Carol said, “I think you have an admirer, Darling.”

Therese blinked again, startled. What did Carol mean?

“The waiter,” Carol explained.

“The waiter?” she repeated foolishly.

“Why, I think he’s quite enamored of you.”

“What? Carol, that’s nonsense.”

“Much like Mr. Tucker this morning.”

Now Therese’s cheeks were flaming. She shifted in her chair, avoided Carol’s eyes for long moments. She touched the silver coffee spoon on the table, then looked up again. Carol was watching her curiously, awaiting a response.

Therese said, “Mr. Tucker was only being polite. And the waiter—well, I think he pities me more than anything.”

Carol’s brows drew together. “Pities you? Why?”

“Because I hardly look like I belong here.”

Carol’s frown deepened. “Why shouldn’t you belong here?”

Now Therese was uncomfortable. She thought Carol must know what she meant, so why would she ask her to say it out loud? But, thankfully, she did not have to, because Carol spoke instead.

“You look as respectable as any person in this restaurant; you are not the least bit unfit to be here. Honestly, Therese, how can you be so unaware?”

“Unaware of what?” Therese asked.

“That you are clever, and interesting, and beautiful,” Carol said plainly, looking her dead in the eye. Therese breathed in slowly. She almost couldn’t blink, and Carol didn’t seem to be blinking either, only staring at her with a fierceness in her eyes that made everything around them disappear. “Are you unaware?” she asked softly, “of how… beautiful you are?”

Therese swallowed. How could Carol, who was like a goddess, think her beautiful? She didn’t compare. She could never compare.

“Well,” said Therese nervously. “I still think Mr. Tucker was only being polite.”

Carol’s look was droll. But just then the waiter reappeared with their coffee. As he poured, Carol never took her eyes off Therese, who, blushing more and more, realized that the waiter’s smile _was_ rather warm, almost bashful, and very attentive. When he went away Carol raised an eyebrow. Therese took a drink of her coffee, muttering, “All right, I’ll concede the waiter.”

Carol grinned her victory. Therese thought that would be the end of it, but then Carol lifted her own little cup of coffee and said over the rim, “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with a husband on this trip.”

Therese stared at her in bafflement. She knew that Carol was teasing her, as she’d done before, but now there was more to it. The tension that seemed always to be growing between them held a new edge, something Therese didn’t quite like. The way Carol looked at her was like someone _trying_ to be casual, trying to be playful and gay, but for whom all that was a mask over something very different.

“I’m not looking for a husband, Carol,” she said, her voice harder than she meant it to be.

Carol tilted her head. She was still smiling, but her smile was hard, like Therese’s voice. She said, “Perhaps. You’re so young. But I assume you want to marry someday. Have children. That sort of thing.”

 _That sort of thing._ That sort of thing was what Richard wanted; what people always assumed young women wanted. What Therese had grown up in the orphanage hearing _she_ should want, while all around her were the abandoned children of failed marriages and broken homes. Like hers. Why, Carol herself was divorcing, for God’s sake! Why should she be such an advocate for marriage, when it had clearly brought her so little joy, beyond Rindy.

“And what if I don’t?” Therese asked, staring back at Carol, aware of the challenge in her look. “What if I want other things? Things I’m not supposed to want, but I want them just the same?”

This time it was Carol who seemed taken off guard, Carol who blinked in slow surprise. She broke their stare, eyes dropping to the table. She sipped her coffee and then set the cup down. For several moments it was silent between them, silent and tense, and Therese didn’t understand. Were they having an argument? Was Carol upset with her about something? They had had such a lovely day, and now it all seemed fraught. Why should a young man like the waiter have the power to make everything uncomfortable between them, just because he seemed to find Therese attractive? 

Carol said abruptly, “Of course, dear. Like I said, you’re young. You have lots of time to decide that sort of thing. Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room.”

And she was up, and striding away, every inch as confident and possessed as she always was, but Therese, watching her go, felt that it was all an act. Carol _was_ upset about something. Therese might have let the floor swallow her up in uncertainty and fear, except that there were other, sharper emotions taking hold of her. And top of them all, she realized in surprise, was anger. Carol had said it again, _‘you’re young,’_ and in those words there was such… dismissiveness of what Therese had told her. As if Therese couldn’t possibly know her own mind yet. As if Therese really were just a child, an ignorant child, too naïve to understand that eventually she would want nothing so much as to have a husband and have babies and become— _what_?

All at once, Therese found herself getting up from the table. Found herself walking across the restaurant, past diners engaged in all their own affairs. None of it meant anything, none of it was real, only the direction Carol had walked was real. The ladies’ room was in the back of the restaurant, and when Therese reached it, the door was unlocked. She pushed inside, and found Carol standing at the sink, hands braced on the counter and staring at herself in the mirror with an intensity that took Therese by surprise. She looked up sharply at Therese’s entry. She frowned, but didn’t speak, the intensity now transferring to Therese, who hardly knew what to do except stare back.

“Carol, what is it?” she asked finally.

This seemed to shake Carol out of her trance. With forced airiness she stood up straight, wiping one hand across the waist of her dress.

“Nothing, Darling. Go on back to the table. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

Perhaps even this morning, Therese would have meekly obeyed. But something had changed in her, these past few minutes. Something irreversible. Therese turned to the door—and locked it. Then faced Carol again. Just as at the table, they stared each other down for long moments. Carol’s gray eyes seemed darker than usual. Her face was caught in a new expression. It looked almost like fear. What could Carol possibly be afraid of? Just guessing, just daring to guess, caused Therese’s pulse to leap. She felt warm all over.

“I don’t want a husband,” Therese said again. She said it as calmly as she could, not sure why but _certain_ , that the repetition was necessary. “I wouldn’t have come with you on this trip if I wanted a husband.”

Carol swallowed, her beautiful throat contracting, her eyes flicking across Therese’s face.

“No?” she asked. Therese shook her head. Carol’s voice became a raw whisper, “What _do_ you want, Therese?”

But this question might as well have tackled Therese to the floor. Her eyes widened. She was suddenly terrified, because she knew the answer, she had known it from the beginning, but she didn’t have the courage to say it. So she asked instead, “What do _you_ want?”

Carol pursed her lips. She exhaled through her nose, as if a great and almost unmanageable emotion were charging through her. And then, mastering it, she straightened.

“This really isn’t the place for any sort of conversation,” she declared, with all the imperiousness and authority that were her natural bearing. “Let’s go back.”

She moved toward the door, clearly intending to drop it all, and Therese knew that if they went out then the whole thing would be left in this room, and whatever had been about to unveil itself between them would be shuttered instead. In a panic to stop that from happening Therese lifted a beseeching hand, said, “Carol, please—”

Instantly Carol’s hand was in her hair; was cupping the back of her neck; was lifting her head and—oh!

Therese answered her kiss at once, pressed up into her, reached for her face and kissed her as she’d never kissed anyone, as she’d never known it was possible to kiss or be kissed. Carol made a sharp, desperate sound, almost as if she’d been hurt, but her lips did not relent. She kissed Therese hungrily, putting her free hand on her hip and holding her against the door. Therese parted her lips, wanting more, and a moment later Carol gave it, her tongue slipping forward into Therese’s mouth, stroking against her tongue, and the sensation sent molten heat running through her whole body. She whimpered helplessly, and the sound seemed to make Carol kiss her harder. Carol slipped both arms around her waist, pulling her tight into her body, and Therese wrapped her own arms around Carol’s neck, and for several delicious seconds there was nothing but the give and take of their kissing.

Then, all at once, Carol let go of her. Yanked her lips away.

“Darling, stop, stop, we—we can’t do this here.”

Therese did not let go of her, reached for her mouth again, caught it just long enough for one more searing kiss. Then Carol took her by the hands, unwrapping her arms and pressing them back against the door.

“Wait,” she gasped, “Please, wait.”

Therese knew she was right. The restaurant was busy. At any moment, some other woman could come along and find the door locked, and then what? But Carol was still holding her hands against the door, and Carol was nosing up under her hair, as if she couldn’t help herself, and the drag of her nose along Therese’s jawline made her skin erupt with gooseflesh.

“Carol,” she moaned, because yes, she knew the answer to the question Carol had asked her. _‘What do you want?’_ and the answer was so simple, would always be so simple, was _‘Carol Carol Carol…’_

“Please,” Therese sighed against her hair, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume. “Please.”

With a monumental effort, Carol stepped away from her. She went back to the mirror, leaning forward to look at herself, wipe her fingers against the corner of her mouth. Therese leaned back against the door, watching her, panting. Carol looked at her again, her cheeks aflame.

“You’ve got—” she gestured at her own face, seemed to blush harder.

Therese went to the mirror as well, where she saw at once Carol’s lipstick that had stained her mouth. She took a towel from the basket, wetted it, and carefully wiped away all trace, though her fingers were trembling, though all she wanted really was for that stain to stay where it was, to stare at it and see in it the proof, undeniable, of Carol’s desire.

Carol made her wait in the bathroom while she herself returned to the table. Therese followed two, three minutes later, and found Carol already settling the bill. Therese didn’t even bother sitting down again. The waiter stood by the table, smiling.

“I hope everything was to your satisfaction, Ma’am?” he spoke to Carol but was looking at Therese.

“Yes, it was all excellent, thank you,” Carol muttered distractedly. She finished signing for the bill; she stood up, eyes landing on Therese with razor focus.

Therese barely had the self-possession to offer the waiter her own smile of thanks, and then she and Carol were walking out of the restaurant together, were acknowledging the hostess’s, “Goodnight, Mrs. Aird,” were taking the stairs and crossing the hotel lobby and going into the elevator. It was just them and the operator, who was polite and professional, facing forward as they rode up in the car, and it was only this that gave Therese the courage, as they stood at the back of the car, to nudge the tip of one finger against Carol’s trembling hand.

By the time they got into their room, Carol following her, Therese thought she might be about to die, her every nerve attuned to Carol, to wanting Carol, to needing Carol. And so she nearly cried with relief when Carol, not letting her walk further, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back—

Therese found herself suddenly with her back against the door, just as it had been in the washroom of the restaurant. But Carol did not take her in her arms this time. Instead, she braced both her hands against the door, either side of Therese’s head, and with a shaky breath stared into her eyes. Her own eyes seemed to burn. She looked—terrified. But also there was so much want and desire in her expression that Therese took a chance. She put her hands on Carol’s hips. Carol shuddered, as if in pain. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in sharply.

“Darling,” she sighed. “Can you… can you be patient with me, please? I want… I want to be… gentle—and—” she swallowed, “—and it’s very… hard right now.” 

Therese didn’t quite understand what this meant, but she didn’t argue. Carol suddenly seemed like a nervous horse, easily spooked, and Therese didn’t want to risk losing this closeness. She didn’t want to risk Carol skittering away. So, she nodded, and didn’t move. Almost at once, Carol grasped one of her wrists and brought her hand up to her face, kissing first her knuckles, and then her palm. Carol’s eyes slid shut as she did it, her brows drawn in a kind of desperate agony. Therese found her own breaths sharpening, wondering what was happening.

Therese might be naïve of some things, but not all. She understood what she was feeling—she knew these sensations, had spent more than one night aching with loneliness and need, until she’d found herself, almost unconsciously, reaching under her clothes. Touching her own skin. Neither Richard nor any other boy had made her want to do this before, but Carol had. And so she knew what she wanted. She knew the desperation in her own body, heightened by years without touch. Without love. But why should Carol be so…

“Carol,” she moaned, and then gasped, because Carol had opened her mouth and was gently biting the meat of her palm, and the sensation was so _much_ , was so full of longing, that all at once a thought occurred to Therese that never had before.

“Carol,” she said again, swallowing, gathering all her courage. “How long has it been since you… since you—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, embarrassed, but Carol was looking into her eyes again, and the nakedness of her stare confirmed everything. Carol might have years and years of experience with sex, might have had a child and gone to bed with other people than Harge, even women—but when was the last time that Carol had been touched the way she needed to be touched? Therese, who knew distinctly what that kind of starvation felt like, felt her own almost consuming need retreat under a different longing—to give Carol what _she_ needed.

So with sudden confidence, born of understanding, born of love, Therese lifted up and kissed her again. Kissed her gently, slowly. Put her arms around her waist. Nudged their noses together and pressed their lips together and pulled Carol’s body into her own, and began to move them, carefully, toward the bed.

Carol yielded. Let herself be moved. She let herself be touched, and held, and kissed. When Carol was standing with the bed behind her, Therese started to undress her. Carol helped, and helped Therese undress, too, until they were standing in their underwear. Carol’s eyes dropped, looking at Therese’s body, her lips parted with an awe that made Therese shiver all over. Still determined to be brave, Therese slid her panties down her thighs; they pooled at her ankles. She released the catches on her bra, and it hit the ground, too. And all the while Carol looked at her, enraptured. 

Therese put her hands on Carol’s hips, coaxing “Lay back.”

Carol’s eyes widened, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to resist. She sat on the end of the bed, and then moved slowly backwards, and Therese crawled forward onto the bed, naked, following her movements, until Carol was laid out under her, breathing hard, still in her underwear. With shaking hands Carol touched Therese’s waist, the small of her back, her hips. She lifted up and took her mouth in a kiss that was so much deeper and hungrier than what they’d allowed themselves since returning to their room. Therese relished it, relished the moment when Carol licked into her mouth, when Carol raised her thigh against Therese’s center, and Therese shook like a branch in a storm.

But—

“Wait,” she gasped, lifting her hips away. “Wait.”

Carol dropped her thigh at once. She looked suddenly panicked. “Darling, I’m sorry. Are you—are you all right? Do you want me to—”

Therese interrupted her with a kiss, a desperate kiss, aggressive, taking control of Carol’s mouth, cupping her jaw to hold her still and—and—

“Carol,” she moaned. “I want to—I want to touch you. Please, can I touch you?”

Carol’s eyes widened. She said, “Darling, you don’t… you don’t have to, I can—”

“Please,” Therese said. “I want to. I just—I don’t—know _how_. Can you—can you show me?”

Carol whimpered, and the sound was all the permission Therese needed. She reached between them, and Carol helped her, and together they unclipped Carol’s garters, and slid her underwear off of her, and her bra next.

“Show me,” Therese begged, and with sudden urgency Carol took her hand and guided it down, between her legs. Carol gasped, and Therese gasped, feeling her for the first time. She was soft. She was warm. She was _wet_ , so wet and slick and sensitive that the barest touch of Therese’s fingers made her hips cant forward. Therese thought about her own body, thought about the places she had touched herself, that had felt good. She searched and found the hard and swollen pearl that was Carol’s most sensitive place. It felt smaller than the same place on her own body, but just as needy, just as perfect.

“Oh, God,” Carol said, her voice raw, almost like a sob. She pressed her head back into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut and used her hand that was still holding Therese’s wrist to guide her. “Yes,” she choked out. “Yes, like that. Slow, like that. Oh fu—Oh God.”

Therese watched her every movement, every flicker of expression that crossed her face, every twitch of her hips and direction of her hand. She found it was easiest to use her thumb, to skim the tip of it across the tip of her. Carol was trembling, was arching. She said in halting desperation, “Therese, can you—will you—your—your fingers—”

Therese knew what she was trying to say, and her whole body flushed with excitement. She reached down to the wettest part of her and slid a single finger inside. Carol keened, her muscles clenching. Therese thought for an instant that her own pleasure would erupt, like a match tossed on gasoline. She had never felt something so incredible in her life.

“Yes! Oh, yes—that—like that, but—but _more_. Another.”

Therese obeyed, was desperate to obey. One finger became two, and Carol keened again, reaching for her face, dragging her down into a ferocious kiss, all open mouth and searching tongue and the vibration of Carol’s moans carrying into her own throat. Therese was gasping almost as much as her. Therese was trembling almost as violently as she trembled. Therese felt an ache in her own sex that was maddening, that was more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. She could feel her own wetness, smearing the insides of her thighs. She could smell Carol’s rich and heady smell and she could feel Carol’s sex fluttering and tightening around her fingers as, with more of that inexplicable instinct, she began to move, to stroke, to rub against a spot inside her that felt both soft and rough and tight and giving. Carol rolled beneath her, like an ocean.

Minutes went by, and they kept moving together. Carol showed her how to move her wrist so that every stroke pressed the heel of her palm into Carol’s clit, and when she got the rhythm of it right, Carol’s back arched and her shoulders shook and each of her breaths became a desperate little sip of air. 

“Is it good?” Therese gasped, even though she knew it was, knew by Carol’s wide eyes and furrowed brow and slack mouth that it was all _so good_.

Carol nodded frantically. And then, suddenly, she grabbed Therese’s hips, nails digging in, and let out a shout of surprise. Everything inside her began to clench. She shook and rocked and pulsed around Therese’s fingers, and the sounds coming out of her were helpless and overwhelmed. Therese held on, kept stroking, rode the shockwaves that went through Carol’s body until Carol gave a last hard jerk, and whining, grabbed her wrist, made her stop. Therese obeyed, and watched in amazement as Carol collapsed back into the bed. Her body was filmed with sweat. Her eyes were closed, and tears were leaking from the corners. She trembled as if she were cold. But she wasn’t cold, she was warm all over, and warmest inside, where her wetness seemed to have bloomed and become a river, running down Therese’s hand. Therese pulled out of her gently, but Carol still shook again, gasping.

It took awhile for her body to calm. It took longer for her to open her eyes, but Therese didn’t mind. Like this, she could look to her heart’s content, she could run her eyes all over Carol, could marvel at the soft weight of her breasts and the coral of her nipples, at the dip of her belly and the length of her thighs. In fact, Therese was so preoccupied with doing all of this that she didn’t see the moment Carol’s eyes opened—only knew it when she looked up to her face and saw her watching her in return. Therese’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but mostly pleasure. In this moment, it seemed that the only real emotions in the world were pleasure, and joy.

“Are you all right?” Therese whispered.

Carol gave her a look, and then chuckled. It was such a decadent sound. Carol put a hand on Therese’s face, cupping it gently.

“My angel,” she said. “Where in the world did you learn—” Then she chuckled again, blissfully. Therese blushed harder, and when Carol stretched out her limbs in luxurious relaxation, arching her back and groaning, Therese felt the pulse between her own legs start to throb with renewed need.

“Carol,” she moaned, almost agonized. “You are… _so_ beautiful.”

Carol looked at her again, seeming to absorb this phrase with great thought. Then abruptly, she sat forward. Her arm went around Therese’s waist, and before Therese knew what was happening, she found herself being moved, being flipped onto her back, and now it was Carol looming over her. Therese shivered at the feel of their naked legs, tangling together, and at the way Carol looked down at her, hungrily.

“You, my dear, are a vision,” she informed her. “But you know, I can’t stop thinking about that waiter.”

Therese’s stomach plummeted—were they back on this again? Then she saw the gleam in Carol’s eye, and the sultriness of her smile, as she ran her gaze all across Therese’s body.

“Perhaps you had no appetite for the desert tray. But I, for one, would like to round out the evening with the something sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that my Carol does a lot of pushing Therese up against doors and walls. What can I say? I love a power top.
> 
> Also, swear to God, how did Carol WINK at Therese like that and they STILL didn't have sex til Waterloo?


	5. Happy New Year Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therese makes a confession on the road to Waterloo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the novel and I love the film, and both of them make choices that I don't agree with. In the film, Therese is a virgin, which completely elides how significant her failed sexual relationship with Richard is to her character. In the book, Therese admits to Carol that she had sex with Richard, and that it was terrible--but Carol's response never really satisfied me. Hence, you'll be getting a two-part Waterloo fic. Content warning for Therese talking about painful sexual experiences.

They left Chicago late on New Year’s Eve, heading west across Illinois toward Iowa. Therese was quieter than usual, felt a little confused and a little unsure. She knew she had seen Carol in the phone booth—and couldn’t think why she would lie about it. Who could Carol have been calling that she wouldn’t want Therese to know? It reminded her of when she’d asked if Carol felt safe with her, and Carol hadn’t answered the question, deflecting instead. Hadn’t Carol said she wanted Therese to ask her things? She had asked Carol lots of things these few days on the road, and Carol was like a complex flower that kept opening to her in new and beautiful and exciting ways—yet there were facets to her that she clearly did not intend to show. Would she ever? Could Therese even dream of having this woman’s trust, the way Carol already had hers?

The coffee at the Drake was much better than at the McKinley Motel, so Therese felt alert and awake, but also jittery. In her pocket were the three letters from Richard, unopened. She had almost thrown them all away, but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure what. Back in her apartment he had asked if they were over, and she had refused to say yes. And yet, after this, after driving these roads with Carol, could she possibly go back to her life with him?

They drove in silence. Therese thought about reading the letters, but she didn’t want to. She knew what they would say. That he loved her. That she was making a mistake. That she would regret this—what had he called it? Crush? Is that all it was? If so, she wondered why she had never felt this way toward him. Or any boy, for that matter. She had liked Richard very much when they met, liked spending time with him, but it was nothing to how she liked spending time with Carol. Even when Carol was distant, untalkative, withholding, it was still better than being with Richard. Perhaps because she had hope that this part of it would change. That someday, Carol _would_ feel safe with her.

She sighed and looked out the window.

After a moment, Carol asked, “Do you miss him?”

Therese’s jaw worked. She sighed again, said in some irritation, “Why do you keep asking about him?”

Carol did not answer right away, and Therese was still staring out the window.

“Well…” a long pause. “You did say he wanted to marry you.”

Therese scoffed. “I’m not marrying Richard.”

Another pause.

“I see.”

They drove in silence for nearly five minutes. Therese began to feel guilty, but also frustrated. Carol must think she was upset about Richard’s letters, when really, she was upset that Carol had lied to her, and it was all so ridiculous, Carol’s misunderstanding. Richard didn’t make her upset. He didn’t make her anything, except relieved to be away from him. She thought about rolling down the window and tossing the letters out into the snow.

Finally Therese said, “I don’t love Richard.”

Carol answered dryly, “I’ve gathered that, yes.”

Therese turned to look at her. She was struck, as she had been every time they drove in the car together, by the exquisiteness of Carol’s profile. The wave of her blonde hair, the redness of her lips and sharpness of her jawline. The length of her eyelashes that Therese imagined brushing against her own cheek. Just the thought made something flutter inside her.

“Did you love Harge?” she asked.

Carol sighed this time, though she didn’t sound irritated, more… resigned. She said, “Yes, actually. In the beginning.”

“What changed?”

“It’s more what stayed the same,” Carol said. “There were always… obstacles between us. Things about me that he didn’t like, and thought would change, and years went by and they didn’t change and that became less and less acceptable to him. We had Rindy, and that kept things afloat for a while, but children aren’t everything. I know that’s not what women, what mothers, are supposed to say, but it’s true. A child can’t make a marriage good. And our marriage wasn’t good. It just took ten years for me to stop denying that. But yes, I did love him once.”

Therese said pensively, “I never loved Richard.” 

“Why, do you suppose?”

Therese considered for a moment, and then admitted, with uncharacteristic boldness, “He’s a terrible kisser.”

Carol threw her head back and laughed, one of her gorgeous, Hollywood starlet laughs that made Therese feel like she had just won a million dollars.

“Oh, believe me, so was Harge at first!” Carol said. “The poor thing! Though, really, I might have been just as bad.”

Therese very much doubted this.

“But you know,” Carol went on, “he did get better. That’s one thing you can say for men: if they want to, they can get better—at all of it. And Harge did try. For awhile there, it was actually good.”

Therese knew instinctively that Carol was talking about more than kissing now, and the realization brought color flooding to her cheeks—not because Carol had brought up sex, but because Carol had brought up herself, having sex, and this was enough to make every nerve in her body stand at attention, a million soldiers ready to go wherever Carol pointed them.

Except then she thought about what Carol had said: that Harge tried. That Harge wanted to get better. And this made her think of Richard, and those two nights they’d spent together. She swallowed hard, startled by how quickly her skin turned cold and clammy. The memory of her confusion, of her shame, of Richard’s thoughtless laugh and of Richard, inside of her… how it hurt.

Without thinking, she said, “I suppose it’s a relief to know that it’s not always terrible.”

She was staring straight ahead but saw peripherally that Carol glanced at her. Saw those brows drawn together in a frown. She said after what seemed an interminably long time, “I didn’t realize that you… and Richard?”

Therese released a soft, caustic laugh, still staring rigidly ahead while her hands wrestled each other in her lap.

“Yes,” she said. “Twice.”

Carol cleared her throat, and Therese could feel a molasses-thick tension in the car. Carol said, “And I take it—”

“It was awful,” Therese said.

She wished instantly that she hadn’t said anything. Here she was, being honest with Carol, telling her… everything, every secret, embarrassing thing, just like a silly girl with a crush. And Carol must think her silly—think her silly and naïve and young, so young, like a child. Carol was a woman, in every sense, a woman who knew things about sex, knew that sex could be good, and felt comfortable saying so. Therese was nothing but a little fool, compared to her. How distasteful Carol must find this whole conver—

“Say,” Carol said, “Are you hungry? I didn’t really eat any of that breakfast at the Drake. There’s an exit up here. They must have a restaurant, or something. Let’s stop for a while.”

They had barely been on the road for an hour, but Therese thought that Carol must be desperate to change the subject, so she only nodded, and looked out the window.

<><><>

The town had a diner, and when they went in about half the booths were empty. The waitress tried to take them to a booth in between two other sets of diners, but Carol asked specifically to be seated in the back, where no one else was seated. The waitress looked annoyed, but Carol in her fine coat, so statuesque, smiling in a slightly arrogant way, was not to be denied. The waitress seated them, slapped the menus down on the table, and went off.

Therese opened her menu and occupied herself with staring at it very hard, though she hardly saw the words. In the minutes since she had confessed about Richard, she had grown slowly more and more mortified. More and more afraid. Convinced that her careless words must have ruined something, between Carol and her. The harder she stared at the menu, the worse it got, until with new horror she felt heat pricking her eyes, felt a tightness in her throat, and realized she was going to cry.

Almost the same moment, Carol’s hand slid across the tabletop, touching hers.

“Therese,” she murmured.

She had taken off her gloves, and her fingers were warm, resting on top of Therese’s hand. Her touch was soft, and Therese nearly shivered.

The waitress marched back toward them. Carol’s hand slid away.

“Whaddaya have?”

“Is it too late for breakfast?” The waitress looked annoyed again. It was almost one in the afternoon. Carol said, “Two fried eggs with bacon and toast, I think, and coffee for both of us. Therese, do you want anything to eat?”

“Just toast, please.”

The waitress took the menus and went off again. This time Therese had the strength to look up, and Carol was gazing across the table at her. Therese was expecting to see pity, maybe even amusement, but Carol’s gray eyes were gentle, almost tender. She looked at Therese in a way that Therese had never experienced before, that she couldn’t name, but that seemed to transfer the warmth from Carol’s eyes into her own body. A life-breathing transfusion.

“Sweetheart,” Carol murmured—and the endearment made Therese’s pulse quicken, “I’m sorry… do you wish you hadn’t told me?”

Therese swallowed, said, “No, I just—I don’t want you to think that I’m… stupid.”

Carol looked startled. She frowned, distressed. “Why would I think you’re stupid?”

“Because I _was_ stupid,” Therese muttered, looking away, acid in her voice as she thought of those nights. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what he was doing. He asked if I was ready and I didn’t know what it meant, and then before I could think how to answer he was… It was all so unpleasant, so… embarrassing and confusing. Even while it was happening, I didn’t know _what_ was happening. I asked him, I said, ‘Is this right?’ because it didn’t seem right. Not with how awful it was. But he laughed at me, like I was being silly. And the second time was even worse, was so painful, and then he was annoyed. He wanted to do it again, he keeps asking me to do it again, but I always find a way out of it. I don’t know how anyone could want to be with someone who doesn’t understand it and doesn’t want it—”

She stopped abruptly, thinking she had said far too much. She hadn’t meant to say so much. She had never told anyone else about it. Finally, cringing inside, she forced herself to look at Carol again.

The expression on her face startled Therese. It was set, almost like a stone mask, paler than usual and with a rigidity along her perfect jawline. She seemed not even to be blinking. The warmth that had been in her eyes before was replaced now with a fire that Therese realized, suddenly, was anger. Not just anger, but rage, barely under control. Therese knew the anger wasn’t directed at her, and yet it unnerved her, made her breaths turn shallow.

Suddenly, Carol cleared her throat. She took out her cigarette case and offered one to Therese, who took it. They lit up together and Carol took a long drag, letting it out slowly.

“Do you know,” she murmured at last, “if I ever meet Mr. Semco again, I think I’m going to run him over with my car.”

Therese’s eyes widened, “Oh, but Carol,” she said, “He didn’t _mean_ to—”

“Don’t defend him,” Carol said. Therese blinked at her vehemence. Carol went on, “Let my age and experience be the authority here, Therese. I know his type. Well-meaning, affable young men who all the world will tell you are a catch but who are too thoughtless and ignorant to realize that their experience is different from yours. Men who think that because they like it, you must like it. If they care about that at all, of course. Which it sounds as though he didn’t.”

Therese frowned. She didn’t know why she felt any impulse to defend Richard, yet she asked, “Don’t you think, though, that it’s not his fault I didn’t know anything when we—”

“Did he know you were a virgin?” interrupted Carol. Therese swallowed and nodded. “Was he a virgin?” Therese shook her head. “Well, then. There’s no excuse. It’s not _difficult_ to be good to someone, Therese. Perhaps it can take time to learn what someone likes, and perhaps some people are innately better at that part of it than others, but anyone can be held at least to the standard of not carelessly hurting you. He ought to be horse-whipped.”

That was when the waitress came back, pouring coffee into their mugs. Carol smiled at her, saccharine, until she went away. Therese, feeling unsure of herself, poured some milk into the coffee and a little sugar as well, stirring it all one-handed while her cigarette burned out from disuse. Across from her, she sensed Carol watching her, sensed that Carol had not stopped smoking. Therese took a drink of the coffee. It was too hot, but surprisingly good. She held the mug cradled in her hands, thinking.

Finally she asked, “So it wasn’t right? Even though he laughed?”

Carol put out her cigarette, which she had smoked very fast. “Even less so, because he laughed.”

Now their eyes met across the table again. Therese felt perhaps even more foolish than ever, but she had to know. She asked, “And it’s not like that with everyone?”

Carol’s gaze darkened. Became somehow both unspeakably gentle, and sharply focused. “No, Darling,” she murmured, another endearment, that shot through Therese’s heart, that set her pulse to a rabbit’s pace. “No, when it’s right it can be quite… safe and good.” Neither of them looked away from the other. Carol’s voice had become a low rumble. She said, “It can be truly… spectacular… when it’s right.” 

Another long silence. Therese thought of their evening at the McKinley Motel, when Carol asked her to smell the perfume on her neck, and just that moment of closeness, of Carol’s skin brushing her lips and nose, had awoken more passion in her than anything with Richard. She thought of touching Carol’s hand and saying, “You look wonderful!” and the way Carol had glanced to their hands and smiled at her, something secret and adoring in her eyes. She thought of last night, in the hotel restaurant, Carol’s sly wink when Therese remembered their room number. All these fleeting moments, these undiscussed flares of attraction, that Therese had been going over and over and wondering—was she imagining it? Were the feelings hers alone?

Finally Carol turned to her own cup of coffee. She, too, added milk and sugar and drank from it, blowing across the top so that her lips pursed beautifully. They avoided each other’s eyes, said nothing for several minutes. When the waitress came back with their meals, Carol eyed the plate of toast in front of Therese. Then she picked up her own plate and slid one of the eggs and two slices of bacon next to Therese’s toast, remarking coolly, “I can’t have you wasting away to nothing.”

Therese didn’t answer, watching as Carol began to eat, still with her eyes averted. Carol had taken off her coat and her orange and white scarf. Her sweater fitted her beautifully, was a baby blue color that contrasted so well with her pale skin and golden hair and red lipstick, red nail polish— _God_ , Therese could look at her for hours. Could never tire of cataloguing every little detail of her. Wished, suddenly, she had her camera.

“You should eat,” murmured Carol, and there was the faintest edge to her voice, a slight hoarseness.

Before she could think, Therese asked, “Would it be different with you?”

Carol’s fork had been halfway to her mouth. She paused—but only for a moment, completing the bite a second later, chewing, swallowing, setting her fork down. She took a drink of coffee, slowly. Therese thought in a galloping panic, _‘I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.’_

Then Carol looked up at her. Into her eyes. And said, “Yes.”


	6. Happy New Year Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol makes good on her promise.
> 
> If you haven't read Happy New Year Part I, highly recommend you do that before tackling this chapter. Once again, content warning for memories of negative sexual experiences. Because Richard was the worst.

After their breakfast, they drove on toward Iowa. They didn’t talk much, certainly not about their exchange in the diner. At first Therese was afraid that Carol might be annoyed with her, but as the hours went on, she kept catching little glances from her, little smiles that were so tender and kind, and she realized—Carol was shy. Nervous, even. She smoked more than usual, and Therese did, too. At one point their cigarettes ran out, and they passed the last one back and forth between them. This was somehow one of the most erotic things that Therese had ever experienced. The brushing of their fingers as the cigarette changed hands. Bringing it to her lips knowing that Carol’s lips had been there, too.

When the cigarette was gone Carol said, “There’s an orange in the basket. Let’s split it.”

And this made Therese so happy, because it felt as though Carol was saying to her, _‘Yes. Sharing that cigarette was divine for me, too. Let’s not stop now. Let’s share everything.’_

So they split the orange. It was ripe and good and when Therese tasted it, she thought, _‘I am tasting this orange. It tastes the same in Carol’s mouth as it tastes in mine. If I kissed Carol, she would taste of this orange—’_ and she almost shivered.

They had been on the road about four hours when Carol said, “It’s New Year’s Eve today.”

Therese couldn’t help smiling at her, fond, “Yes. Did you want to celebrate?”

“Get some champagne at least. I don’t know that we could find a party all the way out here.”

Therese smiled again. “I don’t want to go to a party,” she said.

Carol looked at her, smiling in that warm way. She said, “Me neither. But there’s a town up ahead. Let’s find a place to stay for the night.”

The town was small, but it had a motel, and a grocer’s and a liquor store, and not just a diner but what looked to be an actual restaurant. It was only six, but they decided to have dinner anyway. The food was delicious, the service friendly. All through dinner they talked about things, like Carol’s upbringing on the west coast, and about Sister Alicia, Therese’s favorite nun from the orphanage. Carol seemed very interested in how she talked about Sister Alicia. She asked questions. She smiled at certain things that Therese said, a secret smile that Therese couldn’t interpret, but that made her feel warm. The whole dinner felt warm, felt comfortable, a new ease between them but also a thread of tension. Therese almost asked Carol to tell her the truth about the phone booth that morning, thought Carol might be honest with her, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when everything was so lovely between them. Afterwards they went and bought cigarettes, as well as a bottle of champagne from the liquor store, the last bottle, expensive. Then they drove on, to the motel. Carol told her to stay in the car while she checked in, because it was so cold out.

But when Carol came back out to the car, something had changed. She looked agitated and avoided Therese’s eyes.

“What is it?” Therese asked.

“Oh, nothing,” muttered Carol. “They’re booked almost solid.”

“Did they have anything?”

“Yes.”

But she didn’t say any more about it. She drove them around to the other side of the motel, and they got their suitcases and went to Room 19. Carol opened it, her eyes still averted, and Therese went in first.

It wasn’t a particularly nice motel room; nothing like the Drake. The walls were an ugly green with rather nondescript art, and the furniture was old, dinged up, and set upon a flat brown carpet with more than one stain. The bathroom light flickered dully, and later Therese would notice the rust rings in the toilet bowl.

In fact, ‘later’ was when Therese noticed all these little details of their roadside motel, because the first thing she noticed, the thing that instantly commanded all of her attention, was the single queen-sized bed.

Therese heard the door close, felt Carol behind her, and after a moment of them both just standing there the other woman said gravely, “I’m sorry, Therese. Perhaps we’d better drive on? To another town?”

Is this what she was so agitated about? Therese turned to look at her, frowning, “Why would we do that?”

Carol’s eyes were slightly panicked. She was still carrying her suitcase, as if she’d forgotten what to do with it, and she shifted from one foot to the other, almost like a child.

“Oh, I just—I thought you might—that is, I didn’t want you to think that—”

She trailed off. Therese kept frowning. She felt that she was missing something, some crucial piece to this conversation. Perhaps she couldn’t track it because her thoughts were in their own scramble, overflowing with images of Carol lying next to her in bed, Carol, close enough to touch, Carol, warm and soft and—

“Does it bother you?” Therese asked, thinking that must be it. That Carol must not want this closeness, after all.

Carol’s eyes widened at her. “No, of course not,” she said, almost sharply.

Therese looked at her for a long moment, wondering if she was lying. Like she had that morning, in Chicago. Therese wished she didn’t care about it, wished it didn’t matter to her, and yet she found herself saying, “So long as you are honest with me, Carol I… it doesn’t bother me, either.”

Carol’s brow furrowed, clearly surprised. “Honest with you?”

Therese looked down. She went and set her suitcase down on the left side of the bed. She could feel Carol still standing by the door, watching her, before at last she, too, moved forward, and put her suitcase down, too.

Therese said softly, “Yes, I think… I think if we are honest with each other, then… everything will be perfectly all right. Don’t you agree?”

And with all the courage in her body, she looked at Carol again. Carol stared back at her, still with that slightly furrowed brow. Carol’s eyes, gray and stormy, flicked over her face. She seemed to be considering something, and Therese would have given her life in that moment to know what it was, to know what Carol was thinking, when she looked at her like that. Then—

“Yes,” Carol murmured. “You’re right, of course.”

Therese’s heart fluttered. They looked at each other a moment longer before Carol’s eyes cut away in an uncommonly girlish fashion. Then she went out to the car to get her other suitcase, and when she came back in, she had the bottle of champagne, which she held up with a slightly uncertain smile. Therese grinned.

“We haven’t got the right glasses for that.”

Carol frowned. “Let me run to the front desk. They might have something.”

While she was gone, Therese went into the bathroom. She took a shower. Under the spray, warm and comforting, she breathed deeply. Let the steam fill her lungs and let the water wash away the film of nervous sweat that had gathered on her throughout the day. When she got out, she observed her folded pajamas sat on the toilet seat. She stared at them for a long time, her pulse starting to thread. She felt that she had come to a crisis, a moment of decision that could change everything. She thought of Carol’s eyes in the diner. Thought of Carol’s calm and confident, “Yes.”

She dried off but didn’t put on her pajamas. She settled for the robe, and with her pajamas and day clothes bundled against her chest, walked out of the bathroom to find Carol pouring champagne into two glass flutes. Carol paused at the sight of her, stared at her and ran her eyes down her body, and Therese had to look away, blushing. She was certain Carol knew, but she said nothing, only went to the suitcase and tucked all her things away, not even bothering to fold them.

“Any hot water left?” Carol asked.

Unbidden, the thought flew into Therese’s head that she didn’t want Carol to shower. She didn’t want her to wash the day away. She wanted to smell her body, the richness of her, the cloud of day-old perfume, to taste the salt on her skin—

She cleared her throat. “There should be. I wasn’t in there very long.”

“Well, then. Won’t be a minute.”

Therese didn’t turn until she heard the bathroom door close. Then, on legs that felt just a little shaky, she went to the vanity and sat down before the mirror. She had brought her hairbrush with her from her toilet bag and began to carefully brush her hair. Minutes passed, but as she worked, she found herself looking into her own eyes, thinking. The brush stilled. She tipped her head this way and that, examining the angles of her face. People had told her before that she was pretty. _Carol_ had told her that she was. She supposed she must be, though all she saw in that moment was someone very young and inexperienced, someone forgettable and ordinary. What would Carol want with her? Carol, who could certainly have someone more glamorous, more worldly, more capable of giving pleasure.

The thought of that—of giving Carol pleasure—sent a white hot bolt to the center of her being, equal parts panic, and almost crippling desire.

The bathroom door opened, and Therese, swallowing, focused again on her hair. She heard Carol coming up behind her, and then saw her in the reflection, wearing her own tartan robe. She reached for one of the glasses of champagne sitting next to Therese on the vanity.

“Happy New Year,” she said.

Therese lifted her own champagne, and the two glasses clinked together, “Happy New Year.”

They drank, but before Therese could pick up the hairbrush again, Carol had moved behind her. She put her hands first on her shoulders, and Therese remembered the moment at the piano—the first time Carol touched her. Now, as then, she couldn’t see Carol’s eyes, but that was because Carol was gazing down at her head, at her hair, which she suddenly began to sift through her fingers. Therese stared at her in the mirror’s reflection.

“Harge and I never celebrated New Year’s,” Carol murmured.

There was a deep and aching sadness in her voice, and Therese’s stomach dropped. She had said she loved Harge in the beginning. Did she love him still? Had Therese misread—

“When I—” Carol hesitated. Her fingers in Therese’s hair paused, then resumed. “When I… called him, this morning, in Chicago—”

Gooseflesh rose along Therese’s arms.

“I don’t know what I hoped. Maybe that we could talk about Rindy. That he would see sense. But then I realized that it was… it was pointless. I don’t think he’ll ever let me have her, if he can help it. Not now. So I hung up.”

There was a moment of complete silence. Therese grappled for words to say, but just as she was opening her mouth—

“I felt foolish,” Carol whispered. “And I never… tell people, when I feel foolish. You see I am always quite… alone, Therese. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

Her fingers stilled again. Her whole body was rigid, as if waiting for a blow. Therese realized in amazement what it had cost Carol to tell her this. Carol, who was always so magnificent, so poised. Carol, who never admitted weakness. Yet somehow this revelation gave Therese the courage she had been grappling for.

She said, “I’m always alone, too… On New Year’s Eve, I go to parties. I’m surrounded by crowds, but I’m alone.” Therese swallowed, and reached over her shoulder to grasp Carol’s hand. Instantly, Carol’s eyes met hers in the mirror, and Therese whispered, “I’m not alone, this year. Neither are you.”

The way Carol looked at her. Therese had never seen this expression on her face before. Naked vulnerability. Fear and also hope. It was like seeing her for the first time—her Carol, but a completely different Carol, too, and just as beautiful as she had always been. More so. Because now her arm was moving, and she seemed to be reaching for something, and as Therese watched in mounting amazement, she saw the tie of Carol’s robe, slipping loose. She saw the sides of the robe gaping open, revealing—

Therese turned her head, turned toward her, and she was there.

What had she thought it would be like, to kiss Carol? Tentative? Paralyzing? Had she imagined herself going limp and useless the moment those lips touched hers? What frame of reference had she had, for imagining this kiss? Only kissing Richard, and that other boy before Richard, and those kisses had begun as a hard press, closed lips grinding against closed lips—anything but pleasant.

Carol’s mouth was instantly, achingly soft, like sinking into warm water. Carol’s smell was around her, Carol’s hair brushed her skin, and Carol’s lips were more gentle and more confident than Therese could have imagined a kiss could be. She gave herself to it. Let herself be kissed, let herself feel Carol’s hand cupping the back of her head. Their lips separated; their noses brushed. For a moment Therese thought it was over—and then Carol was sweeping in again. Therese kissed her back. Arched her neck to receive more and shivered at the open hunger in Carol’s mouth, that was so much richer and sweeter than she had ever dreamed. Carol’s hand touched her neck; her thumb touched the sensitive dip of her throat; she seemed to be thinking only of this, only of their kiss, only of Therese, and in that headiness, in the corona of Carol’s complete and undivided attention, Therese whispered, “Take me to bed.”

Carol pulled back, but not far. She looked into her eyes. Her own were stormy gray and hooded. Her lips were full and pink. She whispered, “Is that what you want?” Therese swallowed, nodded. Carol said, “You know that we don’t have to. I’ll never take anything from you, Therese—that you don’t want to give.”

Therese lifted up, into her kiss, into her mouth, with a new urgency. She reached for Carol’s face, holding it cupped in her hands and kissing her, and one of Carol’s hands was in her hair, and the other arm slid down, wrapping around her waist. She didn’t know if she stood up, or Carol lifted her, but she was on her feet, the front of her body pressing into the front of Carol’s, which was bare, exposed beneath the open robe. Therese moaned, and reached with shaking hands for the tie of her own robe. As soon as it slid apart, she felt Carol’s skin against hers, her belly, her breasts, and she whimpered.

“Take me to bed. Please. Please.”

Carol held her tighter, turned her toward the bed. They moved as one, mouths sealed together, kissing. Therese shrugged out of her robe, felt her nakedness pressing up against Carol’s partially clothed body, and it was the sweetest, most electrifying sensation, vulnerable and yet powerful, needing and yet meeting need, Carol’s need, which was evident in her grasping hands and pressing lips and soft moan. Therese found herself suddenly being pressed down, into the bed, and Carol was on top of her. Carol pulled back with a gasp and looked down at her. Ran her eyes down the length of her naked body. Carol’s lips were parted, her eyes wide and hungry.

“Therese,” she murmured. “God, look at you. I never looked like that.”

Therese swallowed, shivered, lifted up into Carol’s kiss. Carol said, “You’re trembling,” and gazed into her eyes. Therese didn’t know what to say, how to respond, because she _was_ trembling, everywhere, inside and out. Carol whispered, “Do you want me to turn off the lights?”

Completely unwelcome memories surged through her. With Richard, everything had been dark, confusing, secret. “No,” she said, “No, please—let me—I want to see you.”

Carol stared at her a moment longer, seemed to read her thoughts, and kissed her again. “I’m right here,” she whispered. “I’m with you.”

Then Carol was taking off her own robe. Therese touched her side, stroking, tentative—amazed. Her skin was the softest thing Therese had ever felt. Her breasts were so much fuller than her own, heavy, with dark coral nipples. Her torso was long, her shoulders broad yet still so feminine. Yes, certainly, she had never looked like Therese. What she looked like was infinitely better. A goddess, delivered to her bed. She pulled Carol down, and there was a new energy to their kiss. Therese opened her mouth—wanted to feel Carol’s open mouth, but Carol seemed almost to be avoiding it, the deeper kiss that Therese knew was possible. Carol’s hands slid over her body, her mouth slid down her cheek, her chin, her throat. And kept going. Wandered across her chest and brushed against her breast. Therese arched, gasping at the sensation—Carol mouthing at her, lips nudging the edge of her nipple, but no more. She moved down, down her body, and everywhere her mouth went her hand trailed after, fingertips smooth, nails pricking. Therese lifted an arm above her head, pressed her face into her bicep, gasping.

Carol moaned, “So… perfect.”

Now her mouth was on Therese’s hip bone, then the join between her thigh and her pelvis. Therese felt how naked she was, how open, as Carol grasped one of her thighs and used her mouth on the other, so close to the heart of Therese’s desire that Therese whimpered and arched and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, her body on fire, a sob catching in her throat. No one had ever touched her like this. Richard’s mouth had never dipped below her ribs, and Richard had been so aggressive; his actions only made her feel self-conscious and exposed.

This, too, was exposure—but of a completely different, exquisite kind. Carol was moving back up her body again, coming to lie beside her and turning Therese onto her side, so that they faced each other. Therese wove a hand into Carol’s hair; felt Carol’s arm, wrapped around her waist and pulling them together. They kissed again, and still Carol’s mouth was a strange combination of passionate and restrained. Therese drew back, looking at her. Carol’s eyes were like deep pools, almost drugged, and yet there was a razor focus in her look. She touched Therese’s face, gently with her fingertips.

Therese thought, _‘What are you thinking? Tell me what you’re thinking.’_

Carol whispered, “My angel…” Then, with raw emotion in her voice, “Flung out of space.”

Shivers raced down Therese’s spine, across her skin, and she _was_ flung—back in time, to Scotty’s. To the first time Carol said those words. And she hadn’t known what they meant. Hadn’t understood, at all really, what Carol was thinking, what Carol was trying to say. Now, suddenly, she thought she knew, and to be that for Carol—to be an angel… it felt unfathomable. Didn’t Carol know, with her halo of golden hair and her dreamlike touch and her consuming eyes, that _she_ was the ethereal being? That Therese was but a mortal, helpless beside her?

“Carol,” she sighed, because that was all she could think to say. In that name, she said everything. She tried to press forward, to kiss her again, but Carol pulled back. Blinking, confused, Therese met her eyes again. “What—I—” she stammered, “What is it?”

Carol looked at her for a moment longer. There was a tension in her face, in her eyes, but it didn’t seem bad. More like… ferocious. 

“Darling,” she whispered. “Is this all right?”

Therese nearly whined. Was this how it would be? Carol doubting every move, every touch? How could Therese show her? Was Therese doing something wrong? Overwhelmed as she was, tongue-tied as she was, was she failing somehow to convey…

 _‘She’s not Richard,’_ Therese thought. _‘She’s not taking from you. She_ wants _you. Show her—show her that you want her, too.’_

Therese wove her fingers tighter into Carol’s hair, and with trembling courage pulled Carol close. This time, she pressed her open mouth to Carol’s. With a need she didn’t entirely understand, she slid her tongue against Carol’s lips.

Carol shuddered, moaned, her mouth opening—and Therese pressed inside. Moved her tongue softly against Carol’s tongue, the first liquid brush making everything in her body light up. Then Carol’s kiss transformed. No more restraint. She moved her tongue with purpose, stroking into Therese’s mouth, licking into her. How was it possible? When Richard did this, it all felt so wet and thick and awkward. But Carol—God, Carol! So soft, so firm, and the wetness wasn’t unpleasant at all, no, it was delicious and smooth and—and—

Carol guided her onto her back again, hovering over her. Their breasts pressed together, Carol so warm, her nipples hard and tantalizing. One of her hands reached down, grasping Therese’s thigh and lifting, hooking it over her hip. Therese felt the wiriness of her pubic hair, felt the muscles in her thighs. With her own legs spread apart she realized that she was wet—not just a little, but soaking; more aroused and responsive than she had ever been in her life, and Carol’s pelvis was pressing up against her. Carol must be able to feel it. Therese didn’t know if she should be embarrassed, or excited.

“God,” Carol moaned, lifting up enough that she could look down at her, that she could smooth one hand along her torso while she used the other to prop herself up. The position changed her center of gravity, and now she was pushing harder into the cradle of Therese’s thighs. Therese arched, eyes fluttering shut. When she opened them, Carol was watching her hawkishly, nostrils flared. “You,” she whispered, “are so…” she seemed to struggle to find the word. Therese could only gaze up and her, wide-eyed, “ _Beautiful_ ,” she said, with intensity, almost worshipfully. “You’re so beautiful, Therese. You feel so good. You can’t possible realize—how long I’ve wanted this.”

Therese’s eyes widened.

“You have?”

“God, yes. So badly. Do you know how hard it’s been? Not to touch you? Not to kiss you? Sometimes I’ve thought it would kill me, all the things I want to do to you…”

She trailed off. Therese was already warm, flushed, but this only made her flush harder, amazed and a little embarrassed and secretly delighted, empowered. It was this that gave her the strength to ask, “Like what?”

Carol breathed out shakily. “Touch you. Kiss you. Kiss your breasts. Put my mouth on you. Put my fingers inside you.” Therese couldn’t help it. Her hips rocked forward. Carol’s eyes flashed. “Do you know what you like? Can you tell me?”

At that Therese’s nerves returned. Her chest fluttered with anxiety and her brow furrowed and, “I—I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I—”

“Shh,” Carol said, and leaned forward again, kissed her deeply, kissed her so she felt it all the way to her toes. She spoke against her mouth, her voice low, almost a growl. “Let me. I’ll ask you questions, and you just have to promise to answer honestly. And also to tell me, if you don’t like something. Can you do that, Angel?”

Unable to speak, Therese only nodded, and with one more deep kiss, Carol descended again.

But this time, it was different. Before, she had been so cautious. Now, she slid her lips over Therese’s breast, flicking her tongue against a hard nipple. Therese jolted.

“Do you like that?” asked Carol.

“I—y-yes.”

Carol covered her nipple with her mouth, tongue swirling, lips suckling. Sensation traveled from that spot, through Therese’s breast, down her belly, and into the aching center of her. Suddenly Carol switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, using her fingers to tug at the abandoned nipple.

“Do you like that?” she paused to ask.

Therese’s body flexed. Her pelvis pushed up, into Carol’s. She nodded, breathless, unable to speak. Carol kept going for long minutes, switching from one breast to another, sometimes abandoning her nipples to suck and nibble at her sides, her sternum, her belly. One bite, along her ribs beneath her breast, was particularly sharp, and Therese gasped. 

Instantly, “Do you not like that?”

But Therese shook her head, whimpered, "No, it's good, it's good--" because as startling as it had been, the sensation of Carol’s teeth released a new flood of pleasure. With that permission, Carol resumed. This time she moved down her body, biting and sucking harder than before, lingering on her hip bone with a ferocious determination. When she moved away, Therese looked down and saw a dark bruise blooming against her white skin, and the sight of that made her frantic, made her hips start pressing desperately.

“Carol,” she moaned, “Oh, Carol, please, please.”

She didn’t know exactly what she was pleading for, but as Carol slid down between her legs, she thought she might pass out. She watched, startled and almost frightened when Carol lay down on her stomach, hands stroking up and down Therese’s thighs, her face so close that Therese tensed with nervousness. Immediately, Carol’s eyes were locking with hers up the length of her body, dark and fixed as a predator in the jungle. But still, somehow, so gentle.

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” asked Carol.

Therese thought she knew what ‘this’ was but feared she might be misunderstanding. “I—I don’t think so.”

Carol smiled. It wasn’t mocking; it was fond and warm, “Believe me, you’d know. Can I?”

Now she was sure of what Carol meant, and her skin flushed even brighter and her muscles trembled with a baffling combination of nervousness, and utter, consuming lust.

“Are you—are you sure you want to?” she asked meekly.

Carol’s eyes darkened, her own lust stark on her face. She chuckled throatily, “Oh, Darling… you have no idea.”

Finally, swallowing, Therese offered a permissive nod.

What happened next was something out of a fever dream. Carol’s mouth, sliding across her inner thighs. Her fingers reaching between Therese’s legs, touching her for the first time. She was so sensitive, just that little brush made her jolt. She started breathing harder, panting, and then she felt Carol’s thumbs, gently holding her labia apart. Then— _Oh God, oh God—her mouth!_ Her lips. Her tongue, sliding tenderly through the softest wettest part of Therese’s body, before rising to firmly circle the hard pearl of her clitoris.

Therese shuddered from head to toe. Grabbed the sheets beneath her. Cried out with helpless, animal need.

“Is it all right?” Carol murmured against her. “Can I keep going?”

“Yes!” Therese gasped. “Y-yes—please!”

And she did. Each lick was like a whip of flame, flashing sensation from the point of contact out into Therese’s every extremity. Carol’s tongue was so soft, velvety, firm, and she ran it in ever more confident swirls around Therese’s sex, around her clit, around her entrance that quivered at the first teasing touch. Therese was whimpering helplessly now, caught in a vortex of pleasure that she had never experienced before. She had tried touching herself in the past, had discovered how certain movements could spark an ache in the center of her being, but these excursions always left her frustrated, confused, even a little ashamed. Now all she could feel was how much deeper this ache felt, than anything she’d brought herself before, and how it was not just an ache but also a kind of emptiness. A deep, consuming need that she didn’t understand but that she felt almost mad to relieve.

Suddenly Carol wrapped her lips around her clit and started suckling.

It was so much—it was too much—not enough. Therese gasped, flinched away, felt something like panic, and—

Carol was there in an instant, climbing up her body, leaning over her and holding her and cooing, “It’s all right—sweetheart, it’s all right. Did I hurt you?”

Therese felt tears in her eyes, but they weren’t from pain. She shook her head, still panting, her whole body one unending shiver.

“No, it—no it was just—I—need—I don’t know—”

“Shh,” Carol soothed. Her hands ran all over her. One slipped down between her legs, cupping her sex, and that grounding sensation gave Therese back a modicum of calm. She managed to open her eyes, to stare into the swimming gray storm that gazed back at her. “Tell me,” Carol coaxed. “There’s nothing to fear. Tell me.”

“I can’t explain it. I—I—when Richard was—in-inside I—I hated it. But now I—” Carol only watched her, listening, but Therese thought she saw a whole new intensity enter her eyes. “I don’t understand but it feels—empty? Is that silly? I feel so—”

“It’s not silly, Dearest,” Carol’s voice was a rasp. “Is that what you need? Do you want me to go inside you?”

Therese’s stomach fluttered; her heart pounded; she swallowed hard. “Will it—will it hurt?”

“No. No, I won’t let it hurt. If it starts to, I’ll stop.”

The hand between her legs began to move, gently, slowly. Now, it wasn’t her palm pressed against Therese’s sex, but her long fingertips, stroking and teasing, skimming her entrance but not going inside. Therese’s hips jerked needily toward those fingers, and all her resistance evaporated.

“Yes,” she gasped, “Yes, Carol, please, yes—”

One of Carol’s fingers began to focus its attention. Began to circle tighter and tighter. Therese’s muscles clenched. She was so wet. She felt frightened, but also desperate. She lifted up, needing Carol’s mouth. The taste—the taste was different now, and with a flush Therese realized why. Carol’s tongue slid into her mouth, sharing this new intoxicating flavor, even as her finger probed a little deeper. Therese didn’t want to, but she thought of Richard, fumbling his way into her body, shoving himself into her, and for a second, she thought panic would close over her head—

“I’ve got you,” Carol whispered. “You’re safe, my Darling, you’re so safe.”

And then, that single finger slid into her.

It didn’t hurt. Therese’s muscles clenched, just as they had with Richard, but that didn’t hurt, either. It was a million miles away from what had happened with Richard. It was slow and it was careful, and it was wet and tight and it was relief, so much relief, like having an anchor in a storm, something holding her down, holding her close. Carol’s arm tightened around her back. Carol’s mouth moved against her own, and Therese felt a groan rumble up from Carol’s body.

“Oh, God,” she sighed. “Oh, Therese, you—feel incredible. Is it all right? Are you all right?”

Carol tried to pull back, to look at her face, but Therese just nodded frantically, dragging her back into her kiss, needing to kiss her so hard, to devour her mouth as that single finger pressed and stroked and lit her up from within.

“I’ve wanted this,” Carol gasped against her, “I’ve wanted this _so badly_. Please, Angel, you have to tell me—is it good? Can I—can I keep going?”

Therese felt delirious. She couldn’t open her eyes anymore. It took all the concentration left in her to eke out a helpless, “Y-yes—yes!”

“I want to taste you again. Please? Can I?”

“Yes—”

Immediately, Carol was sliding down her body once more. Kissing, mouthing, nibbling at her torso as she went, before kneeling between her legs. Her finger was crooked inside and then her tongue was reaching out, licking and circling hungrily. Therese pressed her head back into the pillow behind her, squeezed her eyes shut and bit at her own fist, moaning. Carol’s finger had started to stroke in and out of her, a counterpoint to her stroking tongue, and Therese couldn’t keep her hips still. They began rocking forward, onto Carol’s finger. Carol moaned against her, and that sensation brought Therese to a new height. She began to feel light-headed. She began to feel almost afraid. Something was happening inside her, localized to the thrusting of Carol’s finger and the suckling of her mouth. She felt almost as if she were in the ocean, and the tide was going out, and it was pulling her, pulling her away with it, faster, stronger.

“Oh God,” she gasped, and nearly pulled away; thought that she must pull away, that whatever it was it was too much—

“You’re all right,” Carol soothed her.

“Carol—” she choked.

“Put your hands in my hair. Hold onto me.”

Therese obeyed, gripping the thick golden strands. Carol ran her tongue in messy circles around her clit, and Therese sobbed for breath.

Carol said, “Has it ever felt like this?”

“N-no—no!”

Therese’s fingers clenched hard, as if to keep her from dipping her mouth again. There was a long pause. Carol’s finger stilled. She asked, “Darling, should I stop?”

And Therese knew in that moment that if she said yes, Carol _would_ stop. And she wouldn’t cajole her, or sulk, or tell her it was her own fault. No, Carol would give her whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, with all the generosity and kindness that existed in her to give. And this— _this_ —was what Therese needed. To know that this was hers to deny, and hers to choose.

“I—don’t want you to stop. Please, Carol—d-don’t stop.”

Carol’s finger began to move again, slowly, gently, stoking embers into flame. Therese whined, arched, pleaded with her body.

Carol said, “Don’t be frightened.” Her voice was like a cool dipper of water in the rising heat. “Try not to fight it. Relax, and let it happen. I promise, Sweetheart—it’s going to feel so good.”

Therese barely had a chance to nod before Carol was bending over her again, covering her with her mouth, suckling her with perfect, practiced control. Therese gave a shout. The tide started pulling her out, faster than ever. Rushing her along, carrying her up. She was rising with the wave of a tsunami, and she had no control over it—and she didn’t care. Because Carol was controlling it. Carol was touching her, licking her, _fucking_ her, and she was right. It felt so, so good. She reached the crest of that wave and for a moment she hung, a sharp, consuming pleasure ringing through her body, pulsing outward from her clit in Carol’s mouth, and then, with a gasp, she fell.

She fell for _ages_. Distantly she was aware of her own voice, crying out, and of Carol’s arm, slinging across her hips, holding her down. Because her body was thrashing, thrashing in the waves of pleasure and release and _relief_ , that were unlike anything she had ever felt before. She could feel her own sex, rippling and clenching on Carol’s fingers. She could feel her clit in Carol’s mouth, throbbing with its own heartbeat and pumping pleasure out into her body. All these things were involuntary, and all these things were exquisite, and all these things were _Carol Carol Carol_ …

She hardly knew what caused it to start calming down. She hardly felt the change until her hips were dropping back into the mattress and her chest was heaving, and she was crying. Tears, running down her cheeks. But nothing like with Richard. No pain. No fear or confusion or embarrassment. Only the most delicious and joyful satiation. Still with one finger inside her, Carol moved up her body. For the first time in what felt like minutes, Therese had the strength to open her eyes. The sight of Carol’s face made her clench again. Her mouth and chin were smeared with wetness. Her hair was in disarray. Her eyes were a tempest of amazement and desire and need. Therese grabbed her, pulling her back to her lips, kissing her open mouthed and overwhelmed and still with tears in her eyes.

“Carol,” she moaned, and more than anything else she wanted to say the words, the words that caught in her throat, that she dreaded to reveal. How could she expose herself, and then endure Carol’s silence, her distance, her refusal? And yet how could she keep them inside, when they were clamoring, begging to be said—

“Therese,” Carol gasped into her mouth. “Therese, I love you. I love you.”

If any part of Therese doubted it was real, she had only to pull back—to see the naked fear and longing and love in Carol’s eyes, that, quite as easy as breathing, drew from Therese her own relieved confession. “Carol,” she sighed. “Don’t you know I love you?”

Carol’s eyes glistened; her lips parted in a smile of amazement and joy, and then she was leaning into her again, and kissing her again, and everything that was possible in the world, everything that was good, seemed to gather to them, landing like seeds in the earth, where they settled, and took root, and began to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, like, the LONGEST sex scene I have ever written in my life. It felt necessary though. And after the week we've had and the victory we've achieved, I don't think there's nuthin' wrong with a little extra smut this fine Sunday evening.
> 
> BTW, because the motel was sold out, we can be confident that fucking Tommy Tucker didn't catch ANY of that.
> 
> Finally, if you like the scenario of Carol helping Therese overcome the trauma of past sexual experience, may I highly recommend Comicbooklovergreen's Midas Touch: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228224. So very, very good.


	7. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all that Abby wants to think that Therese is just some naïve girl, what she sees on her face is equal to anything Abby ever felt for Carol. Greater, even, for Abby never really fought, when Carol ended things. But this girl—no, this woman—her green eyes flash. She has the recklessness, and courage, of youth. She is going to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wait, we are supposed to believe that Carol untangled herself from Therese's koala arms, dressed, packed, wrote a letter, high-fived Abby on the way out, and Therese never woke up? Pft. Let's try this again.

Abby knocks softly, as she’d promised, and the door opens at once. Carol stands before her, looking as defeated as Abby has ever seen, even in her couture dress and fur coat, her hair immaculate, her makeup on. This is something about Carol that has always amazed and baffled Abby: her ability to look perfect, when everything is falling apart.

Carol mouths at her to come in, and reluctantly, she does. This whole thing makes her feel squeamish. God, the things she does for Carol. She sets her suitcase down by the door and looks toward the bed. It’s dark in the room, but she can see the shape under the covers. What goes through her then is a complex rush: pity, heartbreak, annoyance, resentment—anger at Harge, and yes, anger at Carol. She has loved Carol since they were children, loved her as a friend and as a lover, and she has always felt for her a ferocious protectiveness, comparable she thinks to the protectiveness of an older sister. And just like an older sister, she is not above wanting to box Carol’s ears sometimes.

“When is your flight?” Abby whispers.

“Two hours. I should go.”

But her eyes drift toward the bed, landing on the girl, holding. The grief in Carol’s face is stark.

Abby doesn’t know Therese. All she knows is that she’s practically a child, someone without much in the way of family or connections or money. Who knows what she really wants? Carol has never gone after such a lover before, and it made Abby nervous, when the whole thing started. Therese, after all, was now in a position to extort Carol if she wanted to (though of course that train has left the station by way of Harge and his fucking detective). From the way Carol talks about her, there seems to be honest affection between them. But what woman their age wouldn’t like to be followed around adoringly by a pretty young thing? As for Therese—Abby wants to believe that she cannot possibly feel much for Carol beyond a girlish crush. That this whole thing will be an embarrassment to her, but not much more. This is the only way Abby can forgive herself for participating in something so cruel.

Carol, who has seemed to be in a trance, takes a breath and forces her eyes away from the bed.

“I’m taking just the one suitcase,” she says. “Will you bring my others back with the car?”

“Yes.”

“And will you,” Carol swallows. In the darkness, Abby sees a gleam of tears in her eyes, which could simply be the stress. “I have something. Will you give it to her for me? It’s—”

“Carol?”

They both freeze. Carol’s eyes widen and they both turn to the bed like burglars caught in the act. The shape is moving; a slim hand reaches out, and the bedside lamp comes on with a flood of garish, incriminating light.

_Well, fuck._

For a moment, they all just stare at each other. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. Therese looks at Abby for one long, stunned moment, and then she and Carol’s eyes are locked. Abby, on the other hand, can only stare at the girl. She’s clearly naked, the bedclothes pulled up over her chest as she sits up against the headboard. Her hair is messy; there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks exhausted, and small, and pale. Abby has never really seen her up close before, but she’s struck by how beautiful she is. A waif, yes, and not typically Carol’s type, but—her dark hair, her green eyes, her full lips. Yes, she’s quite beautiful and quite innocent and now she is obviously about to have her heart broken in the middle of the night. Any hope Abby had, that it would be different, evaporates.

“You’re leaving?” Therese asks, her voice sleep rough and weak. 

Carol swallows, says, “Yes, Dearest. I’m sorry.”

A moment’s pause.

“And you’re not coming back?”

Abby says, “I’m just going to wait outside—”

“No,” Therese’s voice is hard. It startles Abby and Carol, and Abby can’t prevent her brows from hiking up at the sheer command in the girl’s stare—which is now fixed on her with unmistakable accusation. “No, you shouldn’t go. Carol brought you here, didn’t she? So you should stay.” Then she looks at Carol, whose eyes are still shimmering with tears, whose face is caught in anguish. Therese’s eyes are dry. She asks, “Why couldn’t you just tell me? Did you think I would try to stop you? Or—or make a scene?”

Carol says, “I—I—”

And Abby feels again that flare of anger, that desire to clobber her friend. Had she thought this through _at all_? Has the stress of all this broken her reason completely? God damn it, if Abby ever gets Harge in a room she’ll castrate him.

Therese says, “I thought at least you cared about me enough to—”

That sets Carol off, who steps toward her, saying urgently, “Angel, I do—”

Therese flinches, “Don’t call me that.”

“But it’s true,” Carol says, beseeching. “I _do_ care about you—you have no idea how much. I—I’ve written you this letter,” she reaches frantically into her purse, pulling out an envelope. “I hoped it might—it might explain…”

Therese looks at the letter, first hungrily, then with scorn, her serious eyes fixed on Carol’s again. Neither of them speaks for long moments.

Abby knows that she should leave the room, Therese’s words be damned. What she’s looking at—it breathes with an intimacy that is not hers to witness. And yet, she can’t look away. She’s never seen Carol like this before. At least, never over a woman. Carol’s various affairs all came and went like stones dropped in a lake. Brief ripples soon subsumed by the calmness of Carol’s remote and studied self-control. It was clear she had never loved any of them. When Carol ended things with Abby, of course, there was far more emotion in it—but it was the emotion of fear, fear of losing her dearest friend. That stung—Abby won’t lie. She took it very hard, at first, convinced as she was that she loved Carol, that she and Carol could have the life Abby had always dreamed of for herself. Now, even if the old wound still aches from time to time, she knows that theirs was never to be a great romance. Far better, the beautiful and steady friendship they have retained. Still, Abby has wondered before at Carol’s ability to remain aloof from certain feelings. To gird herself and shield herself and place a screen between what the world sees, and what she feels.

In this moment, there is no screen. In this moment, Abby understands. Therese Belivet is not just another of Carol’s passing affairs. Carol _loves_ her. Loves her deeply and helplessly, as she may have never loved anyone but Rindy. And for all that Abby wants to think that Therese is just some naïve girl, what she sees on her face is equal to anything Abby ever felt for Carol. Greater, even, for Abby never really fought, when Carol ended things. But this girl—no, this woman—her green eyes flash. She has the recklessness, and courage, of youth. _She_ is going to fight.

Carol places the letter on the bed, stepping back as if from an explosive. She runs her hands down her skirt, says meekly, “I’m sorry, Dearest. I do have to go.”

Abby’s nostrils flare. She looks to Therese, wonders what she’ll do, and—

Therese’s voice is low, and fierce, “Ask me to wait.”

Abby’s eyes widen.

 _Carol’s_ eyes widen. She looks terrified, ashamed, hopeful, desiring. Then, with sinking regret, “I can’t,” she whispers. “Darling, I can’t… do that to you. What’s coming—it may eat me alive in the end, and you. All this with Harge—I can’t bear the thought of it touching you, hurting you, more than it has. It’s so much better that you go, that you live your life, that you forget me. There’s no need for you to bind yourself to all of this, do you understand? I release you, Therese. I release you from everything.”

With every word of this speech, the fierce look in Therese’s eyes only sharpens, becomes not just fierce but furious, a low rumble under the surface calm of her. Abby feels as though she’s been caught in the eye of a storm. More than ever she knows she should leave, but she can’t, because tiny Therese Belivet is wrapping herself tighter in the sheets and rising up onto her knees so that she is almost as tall as Carol, and she’s looking at Carol as _no one_ looks at Carol. Not cowed, or awed. She looks at her as if she alone in the world knows who Carol truly is.

“If you don’t want me,” she says, “then tell me. Have the courage and just tell me. Otherwise, I won’t say yes to you, Carol. Not this time.” 

Whatever that means, whatever it hearkens to, its effect on Carol is tremendous. She goes still as a statue. Abby is amazed. When Carol asked her to come to Chicago—when she admitted that she did not intend to tell Therese—Abby thought it was because she was embarrassed. Ashamed to show weakness. And, ultimately, unwilling to let such a brief affair dictate her actions. Carol, whom she loves more than anyone, has certainly proved her selfishness more than once.

But now, Abby realizes it was something else altogether that drove this ridiculous, sneak away plot. She sees it in Carol’s face. Sees it in how she tries, and fails, to marshal her feelings. This is why Carol planned to disappear in the night. Because she was too afraid for anyone to see the longing she carries, the dread she feels, at the prospect of saying goodbye to this woman who she loves.

It is still selfish, of course. God, it’s even more selfish than Abby realized! Will Carol _ever_ learn?

Then, suddenly, in a voice like sandpaper, “It could be months,” Carol whispers. Therese’s eyes become even more focused, somehow. Carol says, “It could be never.”

Therese swallows. Tiny war general that she obviously is, her courage seems to falter for an instant, as if hope makes her frightened. How well Abby knows that feeling.

“Ask me,” Therese whispers.

The silence stretches on for what feels like minutes, the tension thick as fog, the air tight as summer just before a thunder storm.

Carol says, “Wait.” 

For a second, Abby thinks that Therese Belivet is going to buckle under the surge of her feelings. And perhaps she would, except that Carol is moving toward her all in a rush. They reach for each other at the same moment, Carol’s hands grasping the girl’s face, Therese’s arms sliding under her coat to wrap around her back, and—

This time, Abby does turn away. She doesn’t have to watch this. This, more than anything that has happened so far, is not hers. She finds her eyes stinging with tears, equal parts relief, and sorrow. She knows Harge. She knows what men do in the name of what they call love. And she knows the world, and what it does to people like her and Carol and—and Therese. It is a world that loves to strip them of themselves, to make them hide, to make them wallow and beg and then hurt them again, just for spite. What do Harge and his wretched family have in store for Carol? And can any love as young and tender as the love between Carol and this woman survive the kind of storm she’s bound for? Will Therese prove patient? Will love sustain her long enough for them to be united again? Will Carol even want it, after Harge and his lawyers have battered her with their superiority and recriminations and hate?

Abby glances cautiously toward them, sees Carol whispering to her, voice clogged with tears, “I have to go, Angel. I have to.”

She kisses her again, hard and deep, Therese’s fingers caught in her hair, and then, she breaks away. She grabs her suitcase, turns toward the door—stops at the sight of Abby. Abby stares right back at her, thinking, _‘Be brave, you nitwit. Earn this girl.’_

“Take care of her?” Carol asks, as if she were delivering her own heart into Abby’s hands.

Abby nods. “I will.”

And then, Carol is gone.

For a moment, neither Therese nor Abby says a word. They don’t even look at each other. Abby’s eyes wander across the room, searching for direction, before suddenly landing on the bed. Carol’s letter lies at the edge. Abby goes to it, picks it up. Now Therese is watching her closely. After a moment, Abby looks up at her. The girl is paler than ever, her eyes red, her cheeks damp.

Abby asks, “Do you still want this?”

Therese stares at the letter in her hands for long moments, then meets Abby’s eyes. “No,” she says. “I don’t want it.”

Abby nods, pleased by the answer, though she’s not sure why. She’ll keep the letter in a safe place. Give it back to Carol, when she sees her next. Abby goes to her handbag and takes out her cigarettes and lights one. She stands for a moment, smoking and thinking and aware of Therese’s watchful eyes. There is an unmistakable edge of suspicion in the girl—distrust, uncertainty, and Abby can’t blame her. She supposes they both have a lot to prove to each other. After a moment she offers her cigarette case to Therese, who takes one, and lets Abby light it. They both breathe in and breathe out.

“Do you want to sleep some more?” Abby asks at last.

Therese Belivet shakes her head, a light of determination in her large, tired eyes. “No,” she says firmly. “Let’s leave soon.”


	8. I Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But when she brings the phone to her ear, the obligatory hello catches in her throat, as she remembers: Harge is at a dinner with clients; Fred is away in the Poconos with his wife for the weekend. Abby is on a date with her redhead. Which means the only possible person who could be calling her is—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, folks. This one is sad. But don't worry. I'm already working on my Oak Room alteration.

She carries a glass of whiskey into the bedroom. These nights she can’t sleep without one. On the days when she has to see her doctor (that fucking inaccurate word), she needs two just to calm down, just to be able to sleep. She only came back from Chicago three weeks ago, but it feels like years. And she still hasn’t seen Rindy.

“Why would I let you anywhere near Rindy?” Harge demanded just last week, his face a rictus of wounded pride, heartbreak, and rage. “When you show me that you’re fit to be near her, then we’ll see. For now, I can’t risk having her around someone… someone like you.”

The words stunned her beyond anything she’s ever experienced—more than the discovery of the detective in Waterloo. In all their years of arguments and recrimination, Harge has never said such things to her, never implied that she is unfit to be Rindy’s mother. Even when he first learned about Abby, he didn’t say such things. This is how Carol knows that he not only has the tapes but has listened to them. It is the only explanation for his vitriol, for the fury in his eyes.

Of all the violations Carol has endured, this is, this will always be, the worst.

That night is hallowed, for Carol—she cannot think of it without tears of longing coming to her eyes. Therese’s soft, slim body laid out under her. The way the color rose across her chest and in her face. Her quiet, whimpering gasps; how she trembled; how she moved. The crisis of her pleasure, more exquisite and beautiful than anything Carol has even seen—

And all of it, captured on those tapes. Made crude, made garish, by the very fact of its unintended audience.

Carol sips her whiskey, and then swallows the rest of it in one go. She puts the glass carefully down on the dresser, afraid she’ll drop it, for her hands are shaking. She looks absently at her nails, bare of varnish. She hasn’t had the energy to repaint them in days. Even knowing she was going out for lunch today couldn’t compel her. It’s as if all the color has drained from her life. No Rindy. No Therese.

The lunch was with Harge and his parents, a stilted affair at a restaurant in New Jersey, everyone on their best behavior. Afterwards, as he walked her to her car, Harge seemed almost calm, almost satisfied. 

“How was the doctor?” he asked. His eyes were averted, his mouth a tense line.

“I like him,” Carol said, automatically.

Harge’s eyes flicked to hers, gauging her sincerity. She must have passed some test, for he gave a curt nod. “Well… that’s good. Mother would like you to come to the house for dinner on Sunday. I’ll pick you up.”

It rose in her like a mighty wave, the impulse to snap back, to retort that no, she would drive herself. If he insisted on forcing her into these performances, at least she deserved the solitude of a car ride to gather herself. He needn’t chaperone her like a child.

But Carol squashed that wave, drove it down into the crevices of the ocean floor, smoothed over its angry foam with an appeasing smile.

“Of course. I can be ready at 6?”

And she will be. She’ll do anything, if it means surviving this… horror of a situation. Seeing Rindy again. Keeping—at least _some_ measure of custody. Half and half might be a dream at this point, but Fred seems to think two weekends a month is still possible, if they can—

The ringing of the phone startles her so much she jumps. She’s standing next to her bed, and the phone is on the bedside table. The second ring is like a scream in the silent house. She reaches for it at once, on instinct. It could be Fred. It could be Harge. Carol doesn’t dare awake suspicion by letting it ring a third time.

But when she brings the phone to her ear, the obligatory hello catches in her throat, as she remembers: Harge is at a dinner with clients; Fred is away in the Poconos with his wife for the weekend. Abby is on a date with her redhead.

Which means the only possible person who could be calling her is—

“Hello?”

That voice, soft, almost a whisper, goes through her like a javelin. Carol’s eyes flutter shut. What she feels is the most terrible, heartbreaking, exquisite rush. The sound of Therese is like water poured down a parched throat, and like nails driven into a coffin—

“Carol?”

Carol’s other hand comes up, cupping the receiver as if it were Therese’s face, as if she could draw her close to her. Her heart beats a frenetic rhythm of _yes_ and _don’t_ and _please_ —

Her thoughts fly to last week, when Abby came out to see her for the first time. They weren’t supposed to have contact, and for all Carol knew there was still a detective watching her. But Abby had been back for over a week and Carol was starved for the sight of her, for any news she might carry. Abby came in a cab. She entered the house through the backdoor. The first thing she did was walk to the living room telephone and show Carol how to unscrew the cap on the receiver. Carol had watched in mounting confusion as Abby looked into the network of wires and breathed a sigh.

“Good,” she’d said. “There’s no recording device.”

Carol had thought she was past being horrified by what Harge might do, but as Abby explained to her what to look for, and that she should look for it every time she came home, fresh despair woke in her. How Abby knew about such things was just another of the inexplicable talents her friend wielded—and an insight not to be ignored. 

“What if I find it—the—device?” Carol asked, her voice weak.

Abby pursed her lips in serious thought, and said, “If you remove it, and Harge finds out, he’ll think you’re trying to hide something from him. You’ll have to just leave it there, and know. But for now, you can call me whenever you need. Keep your eyes open for things out of place. Funny looking wires, holes in the walls. I don’t think he’d go beyond something in the phone, since really, he only wants to make sure you’re not talking to anyone but him. Still. It’s worth being cautious.”

And Carol, though it makes her sick every time, has followed Abby’s directive. So far, no recording device in the phone. Which means that right now, no one but her can hear Therese’s voice, the achingly beautiful way that she says Carol’s name, the depth of the silence that rises between them.

Still—

 _‘Not safe,’_ her thoughts hiss. _‘You can’t,’_ and _‘Hang up!’_

She tries to do just that. But it’s like her fingers and the switch hook on the telephone are each the northern poll of a magnet, pushing against each other, resisting. Her heart hammers and her lungs seize, and she _has_ to, she has to hang up—

“Are you there?” Therese asks.

_‘Hang up. Hang up!’_

“If it’s not you, please just tell me…”

The words send fresh agony through her, because she knows what Therese must be thinking, wondering, dreading: who is on the line? Who is listening in? What fresh violation has she laid herself open to? It’s too cruel. She _can’t_ let her think—

“It’s me,” Carol whispers.

She can’t say anything else. Even if she wanted to, her throat closes in a sudden wash of terror. What is she doing? _‘Hang up!’_ But she can’t.

The answering silence is so complete, she could almost think that she imagined Therese was ever there. Or that the ringing in her own ears has prevented her hearing the sound of a lost call. She strains for something, anything, even the whisper of Therese’s breath. She imagines Therese’s face; pictures her standing in the hallway of her building. What wouldn’t Carol give, to have her in front of her right now, to look into her beautiful eyes, to touch her?

But that thought makes fresh misery well up. She knows exactly what she wouldn’t give. What she’s choosing not to give. And what she’s giving up instead.

“Are you all right?” asks Therese.

Carol nearly weeps at the question. _‘All right? No, Angel. No, I’m not all right. I am wretched without you. I am miserable with my choice—and I can’t unchoose it.’_

“I—” she tries to speak, but breaks off.

Therese sounds hoarse, exhausted. Who knows what the past three weeks have been like for her? As bad as Carol’s? Worse? Abby was… tactful, when Carol asked about their drive back from Illinois. She clearly didn’t want Carol to feel worse than she already did (though Carol suspects that Abby is angry at her, for what she involved her in—the heartlessness and cowardice of her flight from the Drake), but Carol read easily between the lines. Therese did not take her disappearance well. 

Therese seems to realize that she won’t answer the question, because in that same quiet, weary voice she says, “Abby gave me your letter.”

The letter. Written hastily in the early hours of the morning, while Therese slept. Carol hardly remembers what she said, only that it was torture to write. Torture, to slip out of Therese’s arms, to dress, to gather her things—

“Do you remember, when I asked you… if you felt safe with me?” Carol swallows at the question, tears gathering hot in her eyes. Therese says, “You didn’t answer me. Not really. But I know now that you… that that’s why you left me. Because you’re frightened. I… understand, Carol, do you see?”

Carol covers her mouth with her hand, afraid of the sob that will break out of her if she doesn’t.

“I just,” Therese’s beautiful voice strains. “I just wish that you had… that you had felt safe with me, Carol. Safe enough to say goodbye. To let me say goodbye.”

She does sob, then—strangling the sound behind her fist, the tears dripping down over her own fingers. If only Therese knew that those days in her company, those nights in her arms, were the safest Carol has felt in years. Oh, she wants to speak! But all her will has shattered. If she speaks, she’ll beg. Beg Therese to forgive her. Beg her to come to the house, or let her come to Therese’s apartment. In this moment she is ready to throw everything away for one more night with Therese, one more night to worship at the altar of her body—but she can’t she can’t she can’t—

“You said I would understand some day. I already understand, Carol. It’s not about resolution. I need you—I need you to know, that I understand. But I—I want to… Ask you… something.”

 _‘I want to ask you things,’_ Therese had whispered, so early on. How like that moment this one was. Therese innocent, wounded. Carol guilty, ashamed. And now, as then, she has to answer her. She owes it to her—this girl who brought the sunlight into her life, whose absence has made everything dark—to answer.

“Ask me,” she says, her voice a tremulous whisper.

Therese breathes in, and Carol can hear the banked sob in it, before she says with surprising steadiness, “You said I should imagine you there to greet me. I need you to tell me—I—need to know—if I’m—” she falters, breathes in, says, “if it’s just imagination. You—greeting me… again.”

Carol’s eyes close, the words of her letter coming back to her in all their damning inconsistency: _‘Until then, there must be no contact between us. I have much to do—’_

Yes, she does have much to do. So much, in fact, that she fears it will never end. That the sunrise will never come. Why did she dangle that carrot before her sweet Therese? What weakness drove her to it? She is only at the beginning of this trial with Harge, of the negotiations, of the careful moves, of the _doctor’s appointments_. The custody hearing is two months away and who knows what she will have to do in that time? She is determined to do it. Determined to do whatever she must. She won’t lose her daughter. She won’t lose Rindy. There is only one way to answer Therese: _‘I release you. I release you.’_ Any other answer would be cruel, would be selfish, and she has already proved her immeasurable selfishness to this girl. Therese doesn’t deserve it. This is why she fled in the night. Because she’s not only selfish, she’s a coward, and she couldn’t bear to say the words to Therese. The words she _must_ say.

And yet before she can, visions and sensations and sounds flood her mind—

That first meeting: _‘I wonder if you might help me find this doll for my daughter?’_

And their first phone call: _‘Do you get a lunch hour there? Let me take you to lunch.’_

Their first date: _‘Therese Belivet. It’s lovely.’_

And their first, exquisite kiss. Tender. Tentative. Bending toward her with a confidence she didn’t feel, clutching her hand and cradling the back of her head and kissing her. Kissing her soft and deep and longing and hungry and feeling her kiss back— _‘Take me to bed’_ — _‘You’re trembling’_ — _‘No, don’t I want to see you’_ —

_‘I want to see you I want to see you I want to see you…’_

“My angel,” Carol whispers, unable to hide her tears. Unable to say what she must. “I—hope not. Darling, I hope not.”

_‘Selfish selfish selfish.’_

Therese says nothing for long moments. In a fever of longing and fear and hope—yes, hope—Carol wonders again if she has imagined all of this.

Then she hears it. Like a benediction.

“I miss you,” Therese whispers.

The line disconnects.

Carol stays where she is, hunched over the phone, cradling it to her ear. As if, gripping tight enough, she will be able to send her own words back across the line, fling them through space, into the heart of her love—

“I miss you, too.”


	9. You Comin' Along? Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol said she loved her, but what did that mean, anyway? Carol lived in another world completely. Yes, she had tugged Therese into that world, of fine dining and fine hotels, with her luxurious Packard and her stately home in the New Jersey countryside and her coat, that damn fur coat, that was perhaps the first thing Therese noticed about her. But it was all an illusion. All fantasy. It had disappeared as quickly as it came, like Carol slipping out the door of the toy department. Slipping out the door of the Drake.

The New York City streets were wet, the cab window layered with condensation and water droplets. She gazed out anyway, saw children dashing down the road, saw men walking, saw women walking, and one woman was wearing a fur coat.

_‘I love you…’_

In the car, Jack told a story about some lawyer at the firm where he worked, who kept coming into the office drunk, and Ted Grey was adding in her own anecdotes about ‘that lush who runs the chemical plant’ and a man called Charles was laughing along at everything. Therese tried her best to keep up. To, if not laugh, at least smile when it seemed appropriate. She was glad that people so often left her alone in social settings, accepting her quietness rather than trying to draw her out. In her life, how many people had really tried to draw her out, to get to know her? Richard, but only at the very beginning. Dannie, of course. And—

“Yes, right up here, right up here on the corner,” said Jack, pointing for the cab driver.

_‘I love you.’_

Dannie greeted her from the window of Phil’s apartment, and he was there to greet her inside, too. He said he’d had four beers already and was feeling fine. Therese thought this was as much due to the new girl on his arm as the beers. She was glad to see him, in a distant way. For everything felt very distant, as if she were inside a glass sphere, and the glass was distorted, and the people on the other side must by necessity be far off and unreal. Therese hung up her coat and let Dannie take her to the kitchen, where someone she didn’t know poured her a glass of wine. She knew that Dannie could tell how distracted she was, but she assured him that everything was all right, and at last, with a sigh, he subsided.

“Try to have fun. I’m gonna see if my girl wants to dance.”

There were a lot of people at the party; most of them she didn’t know. Some she knew through Richard. A few were from _The Times_ , friends of Dannie’s whom she had gotten to know over the past month, and who greeted her with warmth and jocularity and asked, _‘Do you want a cigarette?’ ‘Do you want to sit down?’ ‘Do you want to dance?’_

_‘I love you.’_

She managed to avoid all this at first. She pieced her way through little knots of people and ended up standing in the foyer, between the sitting room and the front door. When she looked in, she saw Richard at once, smiling, with a girl in his arms. When he saw Therese he tensed, scowled, looked away.

_‘Don’t you know I want to spend my life with you? Come to France with me. Let’s get married!’_

She could have had that. She could have had Dannie, too, of course. There were probably lots of men Therese could have had, if the winter of 1952 had gone a little differently.

She looked away from Richard, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, and became strangely convinced that someone was watching her. She looked. A woman had just come into the apartment, a dark-haired woman with dark eyes and red lips who met Therese’s stare directly. A frisson of… something… went through Therese’s body. She half-turned, eyes averted, but after a moment could not help looking again. When she found the woman still watching her, she almost flinched, turned her back, heart racing.

She remembered all at once the women she had seen in the record shop, months ago. It wasn’t hard to know what kind of women they were; their clothes gave it away, not to mention their unsubtle appraisals of her. As for the stranger in the foyer, _her_ clothes had not been so easy to read, and yet, Therese knew. She knew with a certainty that must come from her meager experience. Was this how it would be, from now on? A woman could come along, and Therese would look at her and just know? Did Therese even want such an instinct?

_‘I love you.’_

She thought of a conversation with Abby, one of their few conversations, on the drive back to New York.

_‘It may seem inconceivable to you now, but Carol is not the only woman who can make you happy. If women are really what you want, well. There are others.’_

And Therese had _hated_ her for saying this, even though she knew she had meant it kindly, because replacing Carol would be like replacing oxygen—Therese was suffocating without it already, and its substitute could not possibly restore her.

Abby had said, _‘You’re young. You’re an artist. Your friends are artists, too, aren’t they?’_

 _‘Some of them,’_ Therese had muttered.

_‘Well, believe me, if you’re looking for women like us, art scenes are the place to be.’_

Furiously, Therese had said, _‘I’m not looking for women.’_

And Abby had been instantly cowed, her mouth pressing in a firm line. _‘Of course not. I’m sorry. You’re such a silent little thing. I think you make me nervous.’_

They didn’t talk for two hours.

Therese went into the kitchen, where Ted and Charles were standing by the window and smoking. Therese went and stood with them, and when Charles offered her a light she thought of Carol’s face across the table at the Ritz, when Therese rejected her cigarette case. She had looked so… _nervous_.

_‘Forgive me, shopping makes me nervous.’_

She had looked somehow smaller than herself, earnest, but also afraid. Therese had not known how to process it, the beauty of her, and the anxiety in her, and how timid she seemed as she talked about her new job, her new apartment. And she asked Therese if—

Therese cleared her throat, shifted her feet, dragged on her cigarette and became aware with a little shock that the woman from the foyer was in the kitchen, too, standing on the other side with a different group of people, and watching her.

She was pretty, Therese thought, and felt nausea rise in her throat. This was what Abby had meant. She had meant that Therese would find such women in her own social circle, women who looked at her with interest, with curiosity. Women who were not richer than her or older than her and did not have husbands or children and who had not _abandoned_ her naked in a hotel room like some common—

_‘I love you.’_

Those words. Why could she not escape those words? Words that had rolled into Therese with the inexorability of a rockslide. Words that seemed to compress her lungs til she was panting slightly, and her eyes were wide and only Jack’s sudden appearance had prevented—what? What had he prevented?

Jack said, _‘A bunch of us are heading down to Phil’s party. You’re going, aren’t you?’_

And Therese, finding it very hard to breathe, _‘Yes, I just planned to get there—’_

 _‘You two go ahead,’_ said Carol. She had put out her cigarette. She was reaching for her handbag. Her vulnerability and openness were all disappearing behind a mask of politeness, the same expression she always wore in public.

 _‘You comin’ along?’_ Jack asked her, amiable. 

And Carol said with an almost laugh of surprise and distraction, _‘No. No,’_ and told Therese, _‘I have to make a few calls before dinner, anyway. I really should run.’_

Therese didn’t know why it impacted her as it did—Carol’s response. Carol’s whole manner was changing, and Carol was performing sociability for Jack, and Carol was lying (Therese knew she was lying) about having to go make a phone call. All these actions were like needles pricking Therese’s skin.

Perhaps that was why she said, in a low voice. _‘Your dinner isn’t until nine. You could come to the party.’_

Carol looked at her, startled. Therese had achieved the rare feat of silencing her, and with an unsquashable surge of bitterness Therese said, _‘Perhaps it’s a bit beneath you.’_

Carol flinched, hurt. Therese didn’t care that she had hurt her. Carol said she loved her, but what did that mean, anyway? Carol lived in another world completely. Yes, she had tugged Therese into that world, of fine dining and fine hotels, with her luxurious Packard and her stately home in the New Jersey countryside and her coat, that damn fur coat, that was perhaps the first thing Therese noticed about her. But it was all an illusion. All fantasy. It had disappeared as quickly as it came, like Carol slipping out the door of the toy department. Slipping out the door of the Drake.

And yet now she wanted to do it again—wanted Therese to come live with her in a fancy apartment on Madison Avenue. To dine with her at the Oak Room with her wealthy friends. To make Therese a part of _her_ life, as if nothing had changed, as if Therese could be her little pet again. But Carol would never, had never even _considered_ , making herself a part of Therese’s life, had she?

Carol said, her voice quiet, _‘Another time, perhaps?’_

And Therese was so angry that without answering she turned to Jack, said, _‘It would be great to catch a ride.’_

Within moments, Carol was gone, leaving Therese with just the briefest press of a hand to her shoulder, a contact that speared through Therese, that left her weak with anger and pain and need and love—

“I’m gonna remember you said that,” Ted was telling Charles primly.

Charles said, “Where you goin’ Ted? Stick around,” and followed her out of the kitchen, leaving Therese alone by the window.

The woman from the foyer came over to her at once.

“You’re Phil’s friend, aren’t you?”

“I am, yes. And Dannie’s,” said Therese, with a calm she didn’t feel.

The woman gave her a sly look, seemed to step closer. “Aren’t you going to ask how I knew that?”

Therese glanced away, looked back, meeting her stare directly. “Aren’t most people here Phil’s friends?”

To which the woman replied, still slyly, “I can see why Phil speaks so highly of you.”

Therese said, “Can you?”

And realized the moment she said it that her words breathed with flirtation, with invitation. The woman did not try to hide her openly appreciative look. Therese was suddenly so exhausted.

“I’m Genevieve Cantrell.”

“I’m Therese Belivet.”

“Yes, I know. What are you doing after this, Therese Belivet?”

Therese hesitated, blinked, thought bizarrely of Carol’s voice over the phone, _‘Would you let me come see you tomorrow evening?’_

And thought of Carol, hanging up on her.

“I—” Therese said.

“There’s another party, after this,” Genevieve explained. “A smaller crowd. The right sort of people, if you know what I mean.”

Just a few months ago, Therese would not have known what she meant. Now, she did. There would be women like Genevieve, at this party. There would be men who loved men. There would be artists, like Abby had said. And there would be people her own age, or closer to it, young professionals, like herself, at the beginning of their lives and careers. 

“Well,” Therese said, and glanced anxiously away, and froze.

Because Carol Aird was standing in the kitchen doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twist!
> 
> We'll call this my Oak Room fic, minus the Oak Room.


	10. You Comin' Along? Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol makes her move. Therese makes her work.

Carol walked into the party with head held high, determined not to show fear.

She was aware at once of others looking at her, little startled glances. In her gray suit with the elaborate gold broach, she felt distinctly overdressed, but it would have taken an hour to drive back to her apartment and then drive out here again. During which time she would certainly have lost her nerve. At this moment, she was rather wishing that she had. Everyone around her was younger than she was, knew each other, were drinking. They had come for a casual party amongst friends, and Carol stood out like a sore thumb.

For the first time it occurred to Carol that this must be how Therese had felt, so many times, when they were together. She remembered her little self-conscious movements, adjusting her dress as they walked into the Drake restaurant, and fumbling over the menu at Scotty’s. Carol always preferred it when they were in the car together, or staying at unobtrusive roadside motels, because those were the times when the differences between them didn’t seem to matter. They were just themselves. But perhaps all that time Therese had not seen them as equals—or, worse, had thought that Carol didn’t see them as equals.

_‘Perhaps it’s a bit beneath you,’_ Therese had said, and Carol felt a fresh wash of shame at the memory.

But also, determination. Yes, she was determined. It might be the most reckless thing she’d ever done, coming here. It might mean the disintegration of her last shreds of hope. Not that she had much right to hope, anyway. The whole gamble was doomed before it started, and Therese had been clear. Yet there was that moment…

_‘I love you.’_

Carol had put her entire heart and soul into those words. Had delivered them to Therese for the small thing they were, because they were all she had to give. Yes, she was like the old widow handing over her last two mites to the church. A paltry offering. But absolutely everything she had to give.

And Therese’s face. Was it foolishness to think that something changed in Therese’s face, when she said those words? Something that wasn’t anger, or dismissal, or contempt? Was it possible that—

“Say! You made it!”

Carol nearly jumped, turning to find a very tall young man standing before her. In a daze she realized it was Jack, Therese’s friend, who had interrupted them. Hard not to hate him for that. He looked at her in a friendly way that was nonetheless quizzical.

“Jack,” she said, plastering on her warmest smile. They shook hands. “Wonderful to see you again.”

“You too, you too.” It was clear he was as confused by her presence as everyone else at the party. “I guess you finished those phone calls early, huh? Are you looking for Therese? I think she’s in the kitchen. Want me to take you to her?”

Carol’s heart lurched in her chest. She said, “Oh, no, it’s all right, I can—I can find it.”

He nodded, smiled, still baffled. “All right, well… Have fun, I guess!”

He walked away. Carol went in search of the kitchen. It was not hard to find, but when she looked inside, she didn’t see Therese. There were so many people, everywhere. Carol had the horrified thought, _‘What if Therese left already? What if I’ve come here for nothing? What if that was the last time I’ll ever see her, that moment in the Ritz when she accused me of being too posh for her friends?’_

The thought sent panic lancing through her. She was just about to turn, to flee, when someone in the kitchen moved, and—

There she was. She was standing in the back corner, by the window, smoking. Carol nearly buckled at the sight of her, struck again by the transformation that had overcome her sweet Therese. No longer the girl in the Santa hat; she had become a refined and elegant woman. The change acted on Carol in ways she didn’t understand. She had been so… _attracted_ to Therese, from the very beginning. Something about the girl’s classic and unadorned beauty, her smart but practical clothing, her nails devoid of polish and her face so often free of makeup, had made Carol feel sometimes like a helpless, lovesick fool, watching her every casual movement in a stupor of lust and longing. She had never needed or wanted Therese to look like a Vogue model, to look anything but exactly like herself.

Yet Carol couldn’t deny, this new, sophisticated woman worked her own distracting magic. And the sight of her across the room, so close—within reach! —made Carol’s heart hammer.

But there was a woman standing with her.

Instantly, the flash of relief Carol experienced tumbled back into dread. The woman was dark-haired, and younger than Carol. She was standing very close to Therese, smiling at her in a way that Carol recognized. Therese was not smiling, but there was a tension in her body—a tension of awareness, of self-consciousness, that was not necessarily negative. Carol’s stomach plummeted. Hadn’t she smiled at Therese this way, before? Hadn’t Therese looked back at her with this same shy uncertainty?

Carol cursed herself for her behavior at the Ritz. Their conversation was so short, and she had spent nearly all of it talking about herself. Why had she not asked Therese things? About _The Times_. About her work. About… others. Had there been others? It was three and a half months since she’d abandoned Therese in Chicago. Plenty of time for her beautiful angel to have met other people, other women, like this brunette now crowding her into a corner. Was this why Therese had rejected her with such finality? Had she already found someone else to love her? The mere thought made the blood drain from Carol’s face, a combination of horror and despair and humiliation—

Therese looked away from the woman. Looked toward the kitchen doorway, an unfocused look. And her eyes landed on Carol.

Perhaps there was movement in the kitchen. Perhaps there was sound. Perhaps the brunette was still talking to Therese and perhaps, for all Carol knew, someone was trying to talk to her. But none of it registered, because Therese had seen her, and was staring at her, and her beautiful green eyes were wide. Not with anger. Not with scorn. With amazement. With something that might even be—

Carol walked toward her. Within moments she was standing next to her, and their eyes had not broken contact in all that time.

Therese said, “You came.”

And Carol said, “Yes.”

“How did you—”

“I guessed that the Phil your friend Jack was talking about was Phil McElroy. I looked up his address in the phone book.”

Therese was clearly surprised. Perhaps she had thought all this time that Carol never listened, when she talked about her friends? How had Carol failed to make her understand, that she listened to everything? That she _saw_ everything? A very small smile tugged the corners of Therese’s mouth, and because Carol had not seen her smile in months, she thought she might collapse in its presence.

“That was rather devious,” said Therese. Then, with a start, she gestured at the woman standing in front of her. “This is Genevieve Cantrell. Genevieve, this is Carol Aird.”

Though it felt like torture to pull her eyes from Therese, Carol forced herself to look at the other woman, to hold out a hand, to shake.

“How do you do?” she said.

Genevieve Cantrell’s eyes darted from Therese to Carol. She said, “Just fine, thanks. How do you know Therese?”

“We met back at Christmastime,” said Therese, taking control of the conversation so that Genevieve looked at her instead of Carol. “I helped Carol find a Christmas present for her daughter.”

Carol was grateful for this spartan account, because she did not want to tell Genevieve Cantrell anymore about it. She did not want to talk to Genevieve Cantrell at all. She only wanted to stand there and stare at Therese, who was taking a drag of her cigarette and looking into Carol’s eyes, thoughtful. Suddenly nervous, Carol took out her own cigarette case, and, out of politeness, offered one to Genevieve.

Genevieve declined, chuckled in a distracted way, and sighed.

“Well,” she said. “Enjoy the party.”

And then she was drifting away. Therese did not watch her leave, did not seem to register it, even. Surely, she would not behave this way if she already had a new lover…?

Carol put away her cigarette case, lit her cigarette, and took a slow drag, blowing the smoke in the air above their heads. Therese watched her. It reminded Carol, suddenly, of their first lunch date, except that now _she_ was the awkward and nervous girl, and Therese the poised, observing woman.

Therese said again, “You came.”

Carol asked, timidly, “Is it all right?”

Therese thought about it. The amazement that had been in her eyes before was replaced, now, by a cool guardedness.

“I’m surprised,” she admitted. “This isn’t exactly… your scene.”

For once Carol let impulse drive her. She said, “It is, if you’re here.”

Therese gave her a look then. Half kind, half exasperated, and entirely consuming. Carol wanted _so badly_ to touch her. Any touch. Even the merest brush of a pinkie finger, against the edge of her dress…

“Richard is here,” Therese remarked, and there was a kind of challenge in her look. 

Carol snorted. “If you think I’m intimidated by Mr. Semco, you don’t know me very well.”

She regretted the words instantly. Therese’s eyes flashed, an intense emotion seizing her face, and Carol wanted to disappear into the ground. Perhaps impulse control was good for something.

“I’m sorry,” Carol whispered. “That was…”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” Therese interrupted coldly. “I don’t know you very well. Perhaps you don’t know me either, anymore.”

Carol fought hard against the tears that wanted to spring into her eyes. Softly she said, “I want to know you again. It’s all I want, Therese.”

Therese sighed, “Carol, I don’t—”

“Anybody got a light?”

Therese jolted. Carol blinked. They looked together at two young men who had approached them, both smiling hopefully and arrogantly. Carol nearly snarled at them, an animal fury rising up in her at this second interruption. She controlled herself, finding her lighter and handing it to them.

“Swell of you,” said one, grinning at Carol. The other had his eyes on Therese. “What’re your names?”

But Therese said, “Excuse me, I’ve just got to—”

She stabbed out her cigarette in an ash tray on the windowsill, and walked off. The two men, startled, looked at Carol for explanation. Carol put out her own cigarette and took back her lighter. She didn’t even bother being polite to them. She followed Therese.

Therese walked swiftly out of the kitchen and down a hallway. She passed one door on the left and then turned right, into a bedroom, which had only a dim light on next to the bed. Carol was right behind her, shutting the door after them. Locking it. This was an utterly reckless thing to do, but as Therese turned to face her, she didn’t care. Therese’s eyes were flaming, with anger, with frustration, with—something Carol dared not name. Carol stood with the door behind her and just looked at her, feeling helpless.

“Do you wish I hadn’t come?”

Therese’s nostrils flared. She looked a little flushed and she was fidgeting, and the room was small, but somehow there seemed to be miles of distance between them.

Abruptly she said, “So, you meant it?”

Carol knew what she was referring to. _‘I love you I love you.’_

“Of course I meant it,” she said, slightly irritated.

“And do you think I’ve just been waiting around for you to come back and say that to me?” demanded Therese.

“I—”

“Because I haven’t.”

Carol said nothing. It would be foolish to say anything, and anyway, she knew this already. She’d known it the minute she saw Therese this morning, walking down the street toward _The Times_ offices. Even through a cab window, even through the morning crowds, it was obvious in Therese’s brisk and purposeful walk, in the set of her chin and the cut of her beautiful clothes, that she had not been waiting. She really had blossomed, and now it was clearer than ever, because standing there, looking Carol in the eye, she was like some powerful and furious young queen.

“I’m not the Therese you knew before,” Therese told her. “You say you love me, but… You love a girl, a child, someone who worshipped you. You love someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I’m not what you want, Carol.”

This set her off, made her own nostrils flare, her chin tilt up in defiance. Carol said, “Perhaps you’d better not tell me what I want, Therese.”

“Perhaps you’d better not expect me to come crawling back to you,” Therese retorted.

“Oh, Darling… isn’t it obvious yet? _I’m_ the one who’s crawling here.”

This startled Therese into wide-eyed silence, and Carol, with determination and a newly woken ferocity, stepped toward her.

“I love you,” she said. She said it with more intensity than she’d ever said anything. “I _love_ you.” She took another step. Therese watched her like a cautious bird, ready to fly. “I love _you_ ,” Carol told her, “as you are. Just as you are. I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve anything, except this: to not be told I don’t know what I feel. I know what I feel. I know who you are. If you don’t love me, I understand. But don’t tell me that you’re not what I want, when you are all that I want.”

“And Rindy?” demanded Therese.

“I’m done choosing between you,” said Carol.

“And Harge?”

“Harge won’t dictate my actions. Not anymore.”

Therese shook her head, looked away, as if she didn’t believe it, or as if she was afraid to believe it. Carol wanted to cross the last few feet between them. Wanted to take her in her arms. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to get on her knees and beg her. But she felt that one wrong move would crush everything. _‘Control yourself,’_ she thought.

Then Therese’s eyes snapped back to hers. Something flared between them, hot as a star. Carol _ached_ for her, with a violence that was like fever, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to stop herself. There was more than anger and distrust in Therese’s face now, there was longing, and when those green eyes tracked down Carol’s body in a slow assessment, Carol realized that there was desire, too. Therese’s fingers at her sides flexed. Her body shifted forward, the subtlest relocation, and Carol’s stomach swooped.

A knock on the door startled them both. A man’s voice called in, “Therese? Are you okay?”

_‘Fuck,’_ Carol thought. _‘Fuck fuck_ fuck _these_ fucking _men!’_

Therese’s eyes had widened. She said, “That’s Dannie.”

Carol let out a slow breath, afraid she would scream.

“Tell me what you want,” Carol said. “We’ll do whatever you want, Therese.”

Therese, breathing hard, stared back at her, silent.

Then she asked, “Is your car here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. There's a Part III.


	11. You Comin' Along? Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this one kind of got away from me, guys. It is LONG, and a bit unwieldy. I hope it works!

In the hallway, Dannie was waiting for them. Therese came out first and he looked past her, at Carol, and then into Therese’s eyes. His own were serious, concerned.

“Everything all right?”

Therese said, trying not to sound impatient, “Of course. Dannie, this is Carol.”

Carol stepped up behind her, and it took all Therese’s self-control not to gasp at the sudden proximity.

“Dannie,” Carol said, in her brightest, most cheerful voice. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dannie looked at Carol in the way that many people looked at Carol—in the way that Therese herself had looked at Carol, when they met. A little stunned that someone so beautiful and elegant existed in the world.

“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, you too.”

But Therese was in no mood to watch someone else be caught in Carol’s aura, and so she said, “We were just leaving. Say sorry to Phil for me, would you?”

Dannie, dazed, said, “Yeah, sure.”

Therese knew she was being rude, but she didn’t care. She’d apologize to Dannie another time. She moved toward the foyer, aware of Carol in her wake, aware of so many other people around them. She wished that it was only Carol in this whole apartment. In the whole building. She imagined all the furniture in Phil’s place disappearing, all the windows boarded up, and the two of them trapped inside with no access to the outside world, no knowledge that an outside world existed, everything quiet and dark and still around them. The thought terrified her and filled her with need. She was so distracted by it that when she reached the foyer, she almost ran into him—

Richard.

He recoiled from her, from the slightest chance of them touching each other. Therese felt Carol behind her, right behind her, coming to an easy halt. Therese could see the front door behind Richard, so close, and yet when he looked over her shoulder, as Dannie had done, and saw Carol, Therese froze. He froze, too, his expression stunned.

“Mr. Semco,” said Carol. Her voice was a drawl. Bored.

Richard said, “You—you—”

“Me,” Carol confirmed, with a hint of icy humor that made gooseflesh run down Therese’s back.

Richard looked at Therese again, mouth opening and closing like a fish’s, his face purpling. He hissed at her, “You have got _some_ nerve bringing—”

“Richard _don’t_!” Therese hissed back, using the voice she had used when they were together, the sharp and angry voice that would startle him into inaction. But the fact was, Therese felt none of the confidence that voice usually brought her. What she felt instead was very near to panic. People were looking at them, looking at Carol, and Therese remembered with a pang of nausea the sight of Tommy Tucker in his motel room. He had followed them, recorded them, told people about them, and Carol had left. What would Carol do now, if Richard made a scene in front of all these—

“Don’t?” repeated Richard angrily, stepping toward her, “Who are you to—”

All at once, Carol was between them. She did it, not aggressively, not attracting attention, but with the smoothness of a dancer taking her partner out of someone else’s arms, and into her own.

“Mr. Semco,” she said. Richard reared back from her, startled. In her heels, Carol was as tall as him, and quite a bit more magnificent. “You may recall once asking me to make sure Ms. Belivet got home safe and sound. Funnily enough, I’m on just such an errand now. I’m sure you won’t stand in the way, will you—of what Therese wants?”

Therese’s eyes widened, as much at what Carol had said as by the fearless calm in her expression. Richard looked thoroughly dumbfounded, and Carol was smiling at him with a coldness that rivaled winter in New York. There was no anxiety on her face, none of the horror and rage she’d shown in Waterloo, when she knew they had been discovered. She did not even seem aware of the three or four other people nearby, watching with curious looks. No, she stared Richard down like a matador, and after several tense moments, he blurted a sound. Perhaps it was meant to be a scoff, or a laugh, but it only sounded like he was confused.

“Fine,” he said, and tried to look at Therese. Carol’s weight shifted, once again as subtle as a dancer, and with another feckless sound, Richard went away.

Therese was breathing heavily, her body tight and anxious. Richard knew Carol’s name. Suppose he sought out Harge? Suppose he told him—

“Therese?” Carol had turned toward her. Therese had ended up in the corner, and with Carol standing so, she blocked off anyone who might come near her, or even look at her. “Are you all right?” Carol murmured. Therese nodded, blinking very rapidly, and though everything had happened so fast and she was unnerved by Richard’s behavior and frightened of what he might do, through her mind the words floated, _‘I’m safe. Carol will keep me safe.’_

No sooner had the thought arrived, however, than doubt and anger and confusion came at its heels. No, no, it couldn’t be this easy. She had trusted Carol once, trusted her with everything, and she—

“Let’s go,” Therese said, and without so much as looking at Carol, pausing only to grab her coat, she reached for the door, and led them out.

On the street, they both paused again. Carol was looking at her. The strength and poise and command she had shown with Richard were tempered now by a return of uncertainty. She said, “Do you still want me to drive you home?”

There was an unmistakable ambiguity to the question. Not, _‘Do you want me to come home with you?’_ Not _‘Can I come home with you?’_

And yet the answer to all of it was screaming in Therese’s heart, _‘Yes!’_

Therese asked, her voice meek, “Aren’t you worried, what Richard will do?”

Carol’s brows drew together in confusion. “Do?” she repeated.

“That he’ll… tell someone… something. Couldn’t it threaten your court case, with Rindy?”

Carol’s eyes softened, became unspeakably gentle and tender, and Therese’s heart clenched.

“No, Darling,” she said. The use of the pet name made heat gather in Therese’s stomach, a warm weight, like she’d drunk something hot and delicious and full of rum. Carol said, “I’ve got nothing to fear from Mr. Semco. I should think it would be obvious to you, by now, that there’s only one thing I’m afraid of anymore.”

Therese swallowed. “But Rindy—” she said again, “You—you can’t just give up on Rindy.”

“And I won’t,” Carol said, with the same fierceness in her voice as when she said, _‘I love you.’_

Therese felt then that there was so much she didn’t know, so much she didn’t understand, and she was afraid, and unsure, and filled with so much want and need and—

She glanced away, and said, “Where’s your car? Take me home.”

They were silent in the car. Therese was half afraid that if she tried to speak, someone would interrupt them again. Maybe this time it would be Phil, popping up in the back seat out of nowhere.

She almost giggled; stopped herself. She was feeling a little… untethered. And being in a car with Carol again was a strange and disquieting and hypnotic experience. Her infatuation with Carol began the moment she saw her. But she fell in love with Carol like this, side by side, in the Packard. To return to the birthplace of that love, when so much had changed, made her pulse thread and her fingers wrestle each other in her lap. She was conscious of Carol glancing at her every chance she got. Conscious of Carol’s own nervous gestures; a hand toying with the heater. A shifting of the shoulders. A toss of the golden head. Therese set her jaw and _forced_ herself to stare straight ahead.

Twenty minutes later, Carol pulled up in front of her building, and put the car in park. She did not switch off the engine. Therese was aware of two competing instincts, and she couldn’t seem to make herself—

Carol asked, “Can I see you again?”

Therese looked at her. Now she knew that Carol had meant it, when she said that they would do whatever Therese wanted. It was clear in every line of Carol’s body how much she ached to move toward her, to touch her, to plead to be let in, and yet Carol did not do any of this. Only gave Therese what she thought Therese had asked for: to be taken home. No more, no less.

Therese said, “Will you come inside?”

Carol swallowed, her relief palpable, her soft smile exhausted and hopeful, as if after swimming against the current for hours, she could finally see the shore.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Of course.”

Carol parked, and they went upstairs together. The apartment was cold. Therese went into the kitchen to light the stove and she got out the tea things and avoided looking at Carol, who she knew was standing in the kitchen’s entryway. Carol had not been here since before their trip. Had she noticed any of the changes? Why did Therese care, if she did?

Suddenly Carol said, “You’re even more skilled now than you were.”

Therese looked, and found her regarding a trio of photographs taped to the wall by the fridge. The one of Carol at the tree lot was not there anymore. Therese had tried to throw it away, but in the end, it was in a box on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. In the garish light of the kitchen, Carol looked slightly pale, slightly tired, but when she turned her eyes on Therese her smile was full of genuine pride.

“Are you liking _The Times_?” Carol asked, not like someone just making conversation, but as if she deeply wanted to know.

Therese glanced away, looked back, said, “Yes. It’s just a clerk’s position. I hardly get to do anything except take notes and type up reports and things. But the senior photo editor saw my portfolio and said it was good. He said he might have an assignment for me in a couple of weeks. My first solo assignment.”

Carol beamed at her, gray eyes shining. “Therese, that’s wonderful.” Therese couldn’t help the shy blush that heated her face. Carol asked, “And they treat you well?”

Therese shrugged. “Yes, mostly. The first couple of weeks, a lot of the men asked me out on dates. I think they’re finally getting the picture.”

Carol raised an eyebrow. Her lip curved in subtle amusement. “What picture is that, Dearest?” 

Therese looked at her steadily, and Carol looked back. Something about it reminded Therese of the first time they had looked at each other, across the toy department—a whole cacophony around them that faded to nothing as their eyes met for the first time. Therese said without thinking, “I forgot how beautiful you are.”

Carol’s smile faded into something far more focused, far more intent; her eyes seemed to glitter.

“Did you?” she asked softly.

Therese looked at her for a moment longer, then turned back to the kettle, mumbling, “No.” She put some tea in the pot and poured the water in. She said, “When I got back, I had rolls and rolls of film, and they were all of you. I spent hours in my dark room, developing pictures of you. Looking at you. Thinking how beautiful you are. Those first two weeks, I thought sometimes I would go mad from wanting to really see you, hear your voice… touch you. God, I wanted to touch you so badly. I’d lie in bed and think about the way your skin felt. The way your hands felt and your mouth felt, when you made love to me. I started to think I must be imagining what it was like. That it couldn’t have possibly been as… perfect as I remembered.”

She turned to look at her again. Carol’s face had transformed. There was something almost—savage in it. Her body was tensed and frozen, as if iron cables were binding her in place and she was fighting against them with all her strength. Therese looked at her impassively.

“But time passed,” she said. “I started working again. I started going out again, with friends. I started taking pictures again—of things and people that weren’t you. And slowly it became… all right again. _I_ became all right, Carol.”

Carol just looked at her, the savagery in her expression not abating, and Therese realized that she sounded too insistent, too determined. In defiance Therese returned her stare. She felt a surge of anger, wanting Carol to look away, but Carol didn’t. With the stubbornness of a child, Therese locked her jaw, clenched her fists, grappled with all her energy to keep her shield in place. To keep her control. To not—falter—now—

“I don’t need you anymore,” she declared.

Carol said softly, “I know.”

“Why couldn’t you have just told me?” There was a note of begging in Therese’s voice, and her breaths were becoming shallower, her stomach twisting with the memory of grief and with its present, surging iteration. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t let me say goodbye. Why couldn’t you have told me what you were doing? I wouldn’t have tried to stop you. I never—I _never_ wanted to stand between you and Rindy, Carol. _Never_.”

Carol’s voice was begging, too, “Therese—”

“And now—I can’t just— _trust_ you again. I _don’t_ trust you.”

“I know.”

“But I—” she stopped herself with furious determination, and felt hot tears gathering in her eyes. Every instinct of self-preservation told her, _‘Don’t say it!’_ Nevertheless she felt the words rising up in her, refusing to be tamped down. “Carol,” she said, voice tremulous, because she couldn’t say the words, and she couldn’t stop herself saying the words, and in that moment she needed Carol to stop her, to save her, to be saved from her—

The cables around Carol’s body snapped. She moved forward like a wave breaching a dam. She grabbed Therese, and with a gasp of relief Therese flung her arms around her neck, and then Carol’s arms were around her body and holding her as close as she could. The words broke through, unstoppable:

“I love you,” Therese sobbed. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Carol seemed only to grip her tighter, pressing her face into Therese’s hair and pressing her fingers into Therese’s back and murmuring to her, wordless, breathless sounds of comfort and adoration and love. A deep and wounded and frightened part of Therese told her, _‘Don’t do this. You’re a fool. You’re such a fool—’_

But there was another voice in her now, and it wasn’t saying words, but rather sensations: the warmth of Carol’s body, and the brush of her lips along her hairline, and the smell of her that was so good and familiar, and all of her felt good and familiar. Therese didn’t know how it was possible, to suddenly feel so _safe_. When Carol was the one who had made her feel more unsafe than anybody, who had made her feel forgotten and worthless and weak. Yet now, in her arms, Therese felt reborn. And like any birth it was exhausting and violent and transportive, and she didn’t know if she could keep from crumpling—

“I’m sorry,” Carol whispered, the first clear words Therese had heard her say since she caught her in her arms, and even these were clogged with tears. “I’m so sorry, Therese. Please believe me. You don’t have to give me your trust, Therese. Let me earn it.”

She pulled back, but only so she could take Therese’s face in her hands, looking into her eyes, whispering to her. “We’ll go slowly. We’ll take our time. I’ll be so good to you, Darling, I promise. Please, give me a chance to earn your trust again.”

Therese reached for her face, too, cradling it, nodding, pressing her forehead into Carol’s and pressing her body into Carol’s. Carol made a quiet, sobbing noise and then gathered her close again. They stood there in Therese’s kitchen, grasping each other, their bodies feeling almost woven together, as if the cables that had held Carol back before were now locking them together.

Whole minutes might have passed. Therese felt dizzy, and there was still that warning voice in her head, but it was so much weaker than the strength of Carol’s arms. By degrees the feeling of their embrace changed. Instead of violent and frantic, the temperature of it seemed to rise, as if they were becoming melted ore, inseparable. Therese was breathing hard, as was Carol. Carol’s mouth was _so close_ to hers, and she could feel the urgent puffs of breath from her lips—

Suddenly Carol’s hands began to loosen. Sounding nervous, she said, “I—I won’t rush you. All right? I—should I go, Darling? Give you time to think? Perhaps I should go?”

Therese had never heard her sound so uncertain. Not even at the Ritz. She started to pull back and Therese grabbed her, bringing her in close again. She nudged her nose against the corner of Carol’s mouth, and heard herself making a sound that meant, _‘No, don’t, don’t, don’t.’_ She nudged her again, lifted her mouth. Brushed the bow of Carol’s bottom lip with the top of hers. Electricity zapped through her at the contact. 

Carol gave a low moan, almost strangled. “Sweetheart, it’s all right. I—we—we can take our time. _Please_. Please I—I want to show you that we can take our time.”

And Therese wanted that, too. Knew that she needed it. But if taking their time meant that Carol was going to leave, she couldn’t bear it. The mere thought woke a panic in her, and she could feel in Carol’s body how much she did not want to go, either.

“Don’t go,” Therese breathed. “I—I’ve missed you so much.” She put her hands in Carol’s hair, the golden strands like silk. She felt Carol’s chest against her own, felt the shuddering of Carol’s breaths. “I—I need you,” she said. 

Carol whimpered, a sound of utter helplessness and conflict and desire.

“Sweetheart,” she said. “I won’t leave, of course I won’t leave, but are you sure—”

Therese rose on her tiptoes, finding the shell of her ear under its curtain of hair.

“I want you,” she said. Carol’s body shuddered. Carol somehow hitched her even closer. They had only touched like this once. It was the morning after their first night together. Therese came out of the bathroom and Carol, who had been packing her suitcase, looked up at her, and a flash of something went through her eyes, before suddenly Therese found herself pressed against the wall and Carol’s lips on hers, devouring her with a passion she hadn’t even shown the previous night. Therese wanted that passion, now. Needed it, and if once she would have been too shy to say so, now, she was not. “I want you,” she said again.

With a needy, desperate sound, Carol kissed her. She tried at first to be gentle, but Therese was having none of it. Therese tangled her hands in Carol’s hair and slid her tongue into Carol’s mouth and nearly fainted from the force of pleasure and memory and hunger that went through her.

<><><>

Carol thought she was going to die.

There could be no other word for what was happening, for the fight and flight occurring in her body—wanting to surrender and wanting to be careful. Wanting to give and being so afraid to take. Carol couldn’t remember if Therese had ever kissed her like this before, with such command, with such urgency. It was the most intoxicating feeling Carol could imagine. Deep, and wet, and starved.

Carol had not let herself imagine this. She dreamed it, perhaps—but the past few months had left so little room for dreams. Even when she wrote to Therese this afternoon, even when she saw her at the Ritz, she didn’t allow herself to hope that such a thing was possible: Therese’s small, dim kitchen, and her photographs on the wall, and the smell of the over-steeping tea, and Therese’s smell, rich, and Therese’s mouth, richer still, the most delicious thing. A banquet. Could this be real? Could any of it be real?

Therese moaned, “Take me to bed,” and Waterloo flooded her mind like a monsoon. But that exquisite night was so different from this, marked by the restraint and uncertainty of newness, and by Carol wanting to be gentle, careful—slow. Now, she practically hauled Therese from the kitchen, toward her little bedroom off the hallway. She reached with desperate fingers for the buttons of Therese’s jacket, and felt Therese reaching for her own. They stripped each other of both in the doorway. Carol stepped out of her heels. Therese kicked hers across the room and Carol snatched at the hook and zipper on her young lover’s skirt, practically tearing it in her urgency. Therese was pushing her back, toward the bed, and Carol landed with an _oof_ , bracing herself with her hands behind her.

Now Therese stood before her, and her green eyes were flames and her lips were swollen and red. She stepped out of her skirt. She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, over her head. Carol watched her slim body undulate with the motion, watched her stomach appear, and her chest. The smattering of moles and freckles that Carol remembered called to her now like sirens. She had to taste them. Had to taste all of her. She reached for Therese, and blinked in startlement when Therese stepped back, just out of reach. She was panting, but for all her obvious desire, she conveyed in that moment a supreme authority.

She said, “Take off your clothes.”

Another night, Carol might have blushed, might have hesitated, but the command in Therese’s voice defeated all her resistance. She wiggled out of her skirt and shell, took off her undergarments in several rounds, til at last she was peeling off her stockings and throwing them into the pile at her feet. All this time, Therese was doing the same, every inch of her revealed in portions til she stood before her, naked and glorious.

Carol gripped the comforter in her fingers to keep herself from launching at Therese. In the end there was no need, because Therese had as little patience as she. She came to Carol at once, sliding forward into her lap and straddling one of her thighs. This meant that Therese’s thigh was between her legs, and as they melted into their next hungry kiss that thigh pressed tight, into the center of her. She whimpered, clutching Therese’s smooth back.

Therese sighed, rocking her hips. With Therese straddling her like this, she could feel how wet she was, her movements leaving a slick trail on Carol’s thigh that made her half-mad with desire. She kissed her again, overwhelmed by how good she tasted. The need to touch her was like a frenzy. Carol put her hands on her hips, intent on rolling on top of her, but suddenly Therese was pushing on her shoulders, and Carol found herself suddenly flat on her back, with Therese on top of her.

Their eyes met. Therese’s were wild and wanting and determined. She took Carol’s hands that were still gripping her hips, and moved them above Carol’s head, pinning them there by her wrists. A storm gathered in Carol’s lungs and belly and in the aching space between her legs, where Therese’s thigh still pressed against her. For a moment she could hardly breathe for the intensity of sensation, for the intensity of Therese, holding her down like this.

Therese bent over her, all her skin sliding into place along Carol’s. She ran her nose from the dip in Carol’s throat up, up, to the tender spot behind her ear. Carol’s hips lifted. Her hands clenched into fists. Therese was such a small, slight thing, and yet the weight of her felt immense—not physical but spiritual. Her angel, alighting from above. Therese nudged her own hips forward and Carol felt the increased pressure and felt also the wet trail of Therese’s sex against her, and both of them moaned. Carol was panting, wriggling, the flare of pleasure more than she could account for, and Therese’s hot breaths in her ear made her feel frantic. 

“Please,” she heard herself say, as if from a great distance. “Darling, let me touch you. Please, I need to touch you.”

Instead, Therese rose up enough to take her mouth in another kiss, instantly ferocious. Their tongues tangled. She started rocking faster, gasping into Carol’s mouth and still holding her down at the wrists. Her nipples kept teasing Carol’s own, the little pebbles maddeningly hard. There was a film of sweat gathering on their bodies, and it helped them slide together, harder, faster. An ache was opening up inside of Carol, more quickly and deeply than she’d ever felt before, a rising torrent, like the sound of a wind shrieking over the cliffs—

It struck like a clap of thunder. It tore through her like a hurricane. She cried out, rubbing mindlessly against Therese’s thigh, her sex aching and clenching and flooding with pleasure for which she’d been completely unprepared. She strained against Therese’s hands, but when Therese did not let go of her, her orgasm only seemed to intensify, as if being held down gave her the freedom she needed, finally, to let everything inside her fly. Since returning from Chicago, she had tried to touch herself more than once, but it was always Therese who soared through her, and the release that followed, however intense, left her miserable and empty. She hadn’t tried in weeks. Now, with Therese on top of her, it was as if all the pent-up need and desire of a lifetime were erupting from her, til with a last, helpless shiver, she collapsed onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut, gasping.

Everything became a haze of sleepy relief and vibrant aftershocks. Therese, she realized, had let go of her wrists, but Carol left her arms where they were, splayed above her head. Therese was running her hands all over her, her arms, her ribs, her thighs. Slowly, dazedly, Carol opened her eyes, and found Therese poised above her, looking at her, wide-eyed and amazed.

“I—” she swallowed. “Did I hurt you?”

Carol blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Well, you—” she broke off again. She was blushing furiously. “You were so—” Carol raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to go on, and Therese said, “loud…”

Carol couldn’t help it. She erupted with giggles. Everything tonight had been so serious, so frantic, so desperate, and now suddenly she was giggling. After a moment Therese’s startled look transformed into a shy, pleased smile. With a surge of energy Carol sat up, bringing her arms down to catch Therese around the waist. Therese gave a little startled yelp, but Carol had her, and moved her, until she was straddling her with both her knees bracketing Carol’s hips, and Carol put a hand in her hair and pulled her down, kissing her hard. 

“Darling,” she said, her face split into a smile she could not control, “That’s how you know you’ve done it right.”

Therese’s blush only brightened. In sudden embarrassment she pressed her face into Carol’s neck, and Carol felt the heat of it, and laughed again. She ran her hands up and down Therese’s back, tugging her closer, scratching her nails down her thighs and feeling the wetness between her own thighs, and between Therese’s. Therese finally came out of hiding and kissed her again, and for a long time everything became subservient to this: the press of lips, the slide of tongues, all of it like a warm lazy river running through them.

But after a little while, Therese began to grow restless. Her hands gripped tighter. Her mouth pressed harder. Her hips canted forward, and she made a soft, needy sound that speared Carol with want.

Carol broke away, asking her, “Can I touch you? Please, Sweetheart, I want to so badly—but only if it’s all right with you.”

Shy again, Therese pressed her forehead to Carol’s, but she nodded. Carol fought every impulse that told her to flip their positions, to take her roughly and desperately, as she wanted to. It might come to that, but she must know first that Therese felt completely safe—that Therese knew she controlled everything.

“How, Darling?” she asked. “How do you want me to touch you?”

Therese made a little choked sound, her hips canting again, her fingers tugging anxiously at Carol’s hair. Carol remembered all at once that in many ways, Therese had come to her a virgin. Her few awful experiences with Richard were not what any woman deserved. They had left her young beloved with more questions than confidence. And now—well, she and Carol had only made love twice, not counting tonight. There was still so much Therese must wonder about, must be insecure about. Carol did not want to make it worse. She feared maybe pressing her to ask for what she wanted had made it worse. She was just about to take that burden off of her, when—

“In—in Chicago,” Therese said, her voice low. “What… you did.”

Heat washed through Carol’s body, remembering. She swallowed, her throat feeling dry, parched with thirst for the girl in her arms. “You mean when I went inside you?” she asked. Therese nodded against her. Carol couldn’t help asking, in a low purr, “Did you like that?”

This time Therese pulled back and met her eyes. There was such yearning in her face, and such vulnerability, as well.

“I—I did—but—” she stopped, looking away.

“Tell me,” Carol coaxed.

A swallow. She looked so young, in this moment. She said, “When I woke up, at the Drake, I was… sore. I could still feel you inside me. But you were gone.”

Carol’s stomach plummeted, and she felt again a surge of self-loathing, for what she had done to this beautiful woman. But before despair could seize her, Therese took her face into her hands, looking into her eyes with seriousness, with urgency.

She said, “You can’t leave me while I’m asleep, do you understand? You can’t do that again. You always have to tell me, if you’re going. All right?”

Carol’s eyes swam with tears, her soul with hope. She nodded, saying, “Yes, yes, I promise. I _promise_ , Therese.”

Therese nodded, and kissed her. Kissed her deeply, without restraint, took her hand and guided it between her legs and moaned against her mouth, “Touch me, Carol. Touch me inside.”

Carol practically came again herself, a growl catching in her throat as she felt the hot and slippery center of Therese’s desire. She reached with two fingers, circling her carefully, but Therese rocked forward, and all at once she was slipping inside. Therese gasped. Carol groaned. She was so hot and wet and tight inside, her muscles gripping and pulsing. Carol could smell the rich heaviness of her, and wished she could put her mouth on her—but not yet, not yet. She pressed her fingers as deep as they would go, and then she began to stroke.

Therese’s head tipped back. Her eyes slid shut. “Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, yes, yes, please—”

“Like that?” Carol whispered.

An incoherent sound of affirmation broke from her lips. Carol wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as she began to move more steadily. At once, Therese countered each movement with sharp little twitches of her hips. She put her hands on Carol’s shoulders, fingers gripping at her muscles, and her thighs began to shiver and flex. Carol adjusted her wrist, pressing the heel of her hand forward and giving Therese something to grind against. Therese shuddered, gasped, became instantly wetter.

They moved together, slow and firm and easy. There was only the sounds of their breathing and the whispering of their bodies. Minutes went by in a haze of gradually building pleasure, until a shiver seemed to travel from the top of Therese’s head to the tips of her toes, making her whole body ripple. She said breathlessly, “Oh!” and a moment later, “God!” 

And Carol said, “Jesus Christ, you feel good,” and “Sweetheart, _yes_ ,” and, “Do you need more?”

And Therese said, “Yes, please, more!”

Carol worked a third finger inside. She thought with agonized lust of Therese’s words, that she was sore after Chicago. She wanted to make her sore now, to fuck her so deep that she would feel it for days, to do it to her over and over again until Therese became like melted butter, weak and helpless in Carol’s thrusting hand.

“I love you,” Carol told her. The words seemed to jolt Therese, her eyes coming open, looking into Carol’s with feverish need. “I love you,” Carol said again, and Therese’s sex started fluttering. “I love you.”

“I’m—” Therese choked out, “Carol, I’m—”

Then all at once she was locking up, crying out, squeezing her thighs as tight as she could and throbbing and clenching inside, and as she tipped over into bliss, she began to roll and surge like an ocean. Her cry rose, almost to a scream, her head thrown back and her neck arched beautifully as she came. Carol kept thrusting, kept grinding, and Therese caught a second wave that almost caused her to shake right out of Carol’s arms. But Carol gripped her tight, kissed her hard, moved in her in a fury of her own lust and need and love and hope—

“Carol!” Therese sobbed.

Carol felt Therese trying to move them, and she let herself go boneless, falling back onto the bed with Therese collapsed on top of her. She stilled her hand inside. Therese seemed to be trying to push her face deeper into Carol’s neck, as if to burrow inside her. Carol had a sudden intuition of what she needed. She rolled them. There was hardly room on the bed, but she managed it, and now Therese was under her. Therese released a sound of relief, as if her body was saying, _‘Yes, hold me. Cover me. Protect me. Don’t ever leave me again.’_

“I love you,” Carol gasped, because they were the only words that mattered. “I love you so much.”

Therese’s shivering went on for minutes. Carol could feel her lover’s tears, smearing her collarbones and chest, and Carol nearly wept as well. When at last the final tendrils of release had gone through her, Therese went limp. For a slightly panicked moment, Carol thought she might have fainted, but then she heard her:

“Carol… Carol… God, Carol…”

“I’m here,” Carol promised. “I’m here.”

“I love you.”

This time Carol did weep, a single broken sob of relief and joy. She drew back, and green eyes gazed back at her, glassy and half-lidded, and Therese was smiling. A soft, drunken smile that pierced Carol’s heart.

“My angel,” she sighed.

With trembling hands Therese touched Carol’s face, drawing it down to hers, kissing her again. Carol carefully withdrew her fingers from between her legs, gratified by the little shiver that went through Therese’s body, before again she was soft and relaxed beneath her. They stared at each other for long moments, and there were no more words. Because the words had been said. The words were _so simple_! Why hadn’t she said them in Waterloo? Why hadn’t she said them at the Drake? It didn’t matter. She would say them every day, from now on. Even when she wasn’t speaking, she would say them, and use them like mortar and stone, and build with them a castle that no enemy could breach. She would live there with her love, in the safe place that was theirs. But they would not be locked away. Carol would buy furniture. And Therese would take pictures. And Rindy—Rindy would be with them, someday, soon. Carol gazed into Therese’s eyes, her angel, her dearest friend and lover and savior. In those verdant depths, she saw the castle rise.

<><><>

Therese woke with the dawn. And Carol was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap for Alterations, folks!
> 
> But wait, there's more. 
> 
> As a thank you to the lovely support I've received on this fic, I'm going to give the people what they want. In the comments, indicate which of the chapters of this fic you would most like to see me develop further. I.e., which chapter do you most want to see what happens next? Whichever gets the most votes, I'll write it. Whether you're a frequent commenter, or have never commented before, take a minute to state your case. I look forward to hearing what you think!


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